Plagues
by lordelannette
Summary: Serving as his foe was the last thing Harry ever wanted, but all of the pain and devastation tortured him inside. The innocent suffered at his brother's stubbornness and pride. War had been the greatest plague to ever hit humanity yet Tom didn't care how high the cost would grow. (Tomione!)(BrotherFic)
1. Chapter 1

**I have had this story sitting in my documents for quite some time now and I never realized how much I had planned for this story and yet it was never getting the** **opportunity** **to be shared with you all. I had written a large majority of this after listening to the song: Plagues by Ralph Fiennes (yes, Voldemort sings!) and Amick Byram so I am giving the notch to that particular masterpiece for inspiring this story.**

 **I know I have other stories that require my attention but I wanted to see all of your responses to this. Although I am a strong Dramione fan, this isn't that ship *gasp* (or maybe it is, you'll have to stay tuned) and I'll be serving some Tomione (which is my 2nd favorite ship).**

 **Now, in this particular story, I have made Tom Riddle roughly around the same age as Harry (being only two years older than him) and there will be some characters that will blend the original timelines but it will still be pretty straightforward.**

 **With that being said, every story has its beginning. Happy reading!**

Chapter 1:

He couldn't remember much anymore, of his life from the beginning. It was always blurry from day to day, hour to hour, yet it was as if the seconds always took the longest. Time was of the essence, he figured from an early point in his life, and the world seemingly revolved on its axis by the sheer force of the ticking clock; always serving him as a brutal reminder that his time was coming to an end and it was the moment for him to pack his small suitcase and relocate to whatever hell hole was next on his agenda. He didn't ask questions anymore, or have the will to make new friends, or even hope that he would be the next child to be welcomed into the loving arms of a couple because it was never him. He was always looked over as some child went running by or the strange feeling that would overcome whoever was glancing in his direction. He figured he was cursed. Or at least that's what it felt like on days like this.

He was eight now. A small thing with scraggly black hair and glasses that were always crooked and a shirt that never seemed to fit properly. Anyone would think that orphanages would be willing to provide attire that would make children look pleasing for adoption but that was never the case. Well, at least for him. He had lived his entire life being shuffled from one home to another, being shoved into a little van before being deposited somewhere else to become someone else's problem. But he was getting too old. People never wanted to adopt _children_ , not if there was a toddler or baby for grabs. It was as if the younger, the better, and it left kids like himself staring down at his sloppy shoelaces as he waited to, yet again, be boarded into a vehicle before driven to a new facility. He had grown used to it. Living day to day on repeat, tended to wear down a person eventually.

He always made sure to stare down into his lap when he was situated into whatever automobile he was thrown in. He didn't like the ability to stare out the window and watch as happy children played in the park or watch as parents coddled their offsprings. It was hard to watch others live around him when he didn't get the chance to do it for himself. He wouldn't know where to begin even if it did. He supposed his time would come eventually but Harry could only hope that when it did, he would be ready.

oOoOoOoOo

Wool's Orphanage reminded him of the haunted hospitals he read about in books, with leafless trees surrounding it and high, wrought-iron fences engulfing the property like a cage. The building was quite big, one of the largest he had been taken to, but it made him feel so little as if something was going to stomp the life right out of him. It didn't help that the flowers potted around the entrance were all wilted and had started to brown throughout. He hadn't missed the chance to crush one of the bulbs before he walked in. The crunch had been oddly satisfying but he hadn't enjoyed having to wipe his hands on the back of his trousers. He would hate it if the owners threw a fit on his appearance, however gastly it may already be.

Mrs. Cole had been quick to point out that he needed proper glassed. As soon as the main doors had closed, leaving him behind, the elder woman dumped a grey button up shirt and black trousers into his hands, adjoined with a pair of shoes that would have been nice if the laces hadn't been removed.

"Had a bit of an accident a few years back," she said curtly as she took in his curious look at the missing strings. "Since then, I refuse to potentially re-live it, therefore, no laces."

He didn't bother questioning her about what exactly had happened that would've involved a simple pair of shoelaces but he knew his place. _Don't talk unless spoken to._

It had only been him and another older girl- one that he had never seen before - that had been dropped off at Wool's but neither of them had said a word, too busy absorbing their new home as they followed after Mrs. Cole. It wasn't a terrible place but it didn't exactly scream nice. The building was two stories tall with large, gothic windows that went from ceiling to floor and covered in dark floorboards that didn't creak. _That_ was a vast improvement.

He didn't see many other kids as Mrs. Cole pointed him towards his new room, positioned in the furthest corner at the end of the hallway and across another identical door like the one of his own. It was closed shut, unlike the other doors he had passed and when he had peeked at Mrs. Cole from under his lashes, he hadn't missed the displeased look she had given the offending panel but she hadn't said anything either and instead, softly pushed him into the bedroom.

"This is yours," Mrs. Cole said as she made her way towards the curtains and pulled them open with a grand swish. "I expect the bed to be made every morning when you wake and lights go out at nine every night. I'll be sure to give you your own table of chores in the morning and until then, you are free to do whatever you please. The courtyard is where most of the children spend their rec hours but you are more than welcomed to stay indoors and explore for yourself. Just know that the west hallway on the bottom floor is my private bedroom and you children are not allowed in that direction. The rest of the house is yours and if you need anything, don't be afraid to locate myself of any of the other children within the vicinity. If you stay on good behavior, Harry, this place is just for you. You can stay here until you are of age but in the meantime, this will be your new home. Understood?"

Harry had to turn around to look at her. She had made her way back to the- his - door and was watching him expectantly. As he faced her, his attention diverted as he noticed another boy - older with dark coiffed hair and dark eyes staring straight at him - standing in the entrance of the room across from his with the door half cracked.

The door that had been closed apparently had an occupant. And a nosy one at that.

He diverted his gaze back to Mrs. Cole to nod his head and by the time she turned and left, the boy across the hall had already closed his door.

oOoOoOoOoOo

It was nothing new. It was the same story with each new orphanage he was placed in. Bullies persisted everywhere, having the urge to ruin anything good that any of these children had. Being the new kid in the house, meant that he was always the target for unwelcomed attention. He never understood it though. What was the point in it? To feel better? He didn't understand how anyone could possibly ever feel better if the only thing they knew how to do was make other people miserable. He didn't have the energy to fight against _all_ of them but he didn't want to appear as weak as he felt either.

He picked himself up from the ground as organized as he could, fixing his crooked glasses but this time he didn't think any amount of bending would fix them. They were the cheapest money could buy anyways. A strong gust of wind could have dented the frames.

"Leave me alone," the threat was weak even to his own ears. "I'll get Mrs. Cole if you don't stop."

A thick, blonde boy with a gust of freckles across the bridge of his nose stepped forward, the leader of the group of boys that had approached him. "I dare you," the blonde shoved him hard in the chest, causing him to shuffle back several steps. "If you tell, I'll kill you."

Taunts were always tiresome to listen to. Children didn't know how to hit yet, not to the point of mortally wounding, but they always thought words would somehow back up their threats. Harry knew the blonde wasn't going to kill him. Punch him? Probably. Kick him? Probably more so. But kill? No, not even in the slightest degree. Despite many orphans coming from violent backgrounds, it was rare for kids of that notion to be mixed in with his kind - the kind that were just dumped at one random shelter for no reason.

"If you leave me alone, then I won't have to tell," he remarked snidely. It wasn't the wisest move, he'd later admit, but he hadn't expected the blonde to charge him suddenly, reminding him awfully a lot of a raging bull. When the blonde pushed him once more to the ground, he grunted as his back hit the grass surface. He was grateful that it wasn't at his old house, or else his back would've definitely bruised from the cemented grounds. Grass, he could do.

Two more boys that had been flanked on the blonde's sides came forward and Harry took a deep breath to prepare himself for the assault that he knew was coming. He tensed his body in anticipation of the first blow but as several seconds ticked by, he opened his eyes in question before looking up at the group surrounding him. The older boys had all forgotten about him as they faced another, their faces all stuck in horror as the blonde clawed viciously at his own throat; scratching from underneath his chin down to the tip of his collarbones and leaving streams of blood in their wake. The other two were clenching tightly at the sides of their heads as they stared at the boy across from them.

"Leave him alone," the boy ordered. His voice was sharp and cutting, slicing into the silence like a double edged knife. It made goosebumps erupt across Harry's.

"Or else I'll kill **you**."

Harry's mouth gaped open in shock as he took in the scene. Never before had someone taken after him like that and he had never seen someone willingly cut into their own skin. It was horrifying to watch as the blonde paid no haste in sinking his fingernails into the tanned flesh on around his neck. Harry took back his words though... because he knew this boy meant the words he said. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that this boy wouldn't kill the blonde. Was he supposed to sit there and let it happen?

Just as he picked himself up, the three of his attackers dropped their arms simultaneously and ran inside as fast as their legs could take them. Harry could hear their loud sobbing even as the doors slammed shut behind their three forms. The other kids in the courtyard were watching in expressions of their own, but to Harry's confusion, many looked like they had seen an altercation like _that_ before, as if it was nothing new and nothing drastic. As if it was normal...

A hand was thrown into his gaze before he could blink. He had to look up slightly through his broken glasses to follow the extended arm, meeting the blank gaze of the boy who had come to his rescue. A boy with dark coiffed hair and dark eyes that seemed to drain his soul - the boy from across the hall, his _neighbor_. The boy was a few years older than him but with an attire that made Harry bristle under his attention. He didn't _look_ like an orphan, then again, the boy didn't look like someone who could...do what he had just done to his three attackers.

Harry figured that it would be rude to not return the gesture and held his own hand out to clasp into his rescuer's. It made him feel like a mouse that had just gotten devoured by an unforgiving python. Harry made himself not dwell on it.

"Tom," the boy said with a blank face, his features polite yet dark as if something lurked beneath the surface. "Tom Riddle."

 **000000**

 **Ending Note: Thoughts? Feel free to leave a review so I can hear from you all!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Here's a Chapter from Tom's POV. Now, this may not be in depth but it's because the first few years are going to be in fast forward because they aren't the main part this story will focus on. I'm going to say now that Tom will appear to be friendly at times towards a few individuals but believe me that there will be no sappy Tom. In this story Tom will be vile and cruel and mean and if that is a turn off for anyone, I completely understand.**

Chapter 2:

Wool's Orphanage had always made Tom's blood boil from within, the thought of having to spend his entire youth in such a grim building never failed to damper his already gloomy moods. He hated the place; hated the children and the old hag that ran the place. Mrs. Cole always acted as if she were better than all of them, acted as if she actually gave a damn about any of the orphans that were locked away at night or that she really cared if they were sick or not. But for him it was different. He hated the woman because _she_ hated him. The way she would look at him before she would lock his door at night, or when she would never meet his gaze when she had no choice but to address him. The woman had even gone as far as throwing him into the furthest bedroom down the hall, away from the other children and everyday life. He didn't blame her, it was how he had chosen to live his life. He enjoyed watching the fear on others faces when he came too close or if he spoke directly to them. They treated him like a plague, a cloud of death that would suck their soul through the thin layers of their skin if he got within an arm's distance from them. He never felt remorse for what he had done to them all, none of them deserved his feelings. They were all _beneath_ him anyways.

When he had strangled Thomas Byford with his own shoelaces, he hadn't cared. When Mrs. Cole had found the cold body, she had claimed it was a terrible accident and pretended to cry when the ambulance had carried the boy away. He remembered watching the vehicle pull away from his window. The flashing emergency lights hadn't been turned on. The hag had known it was him, or at least had her suspicions. She had locked him in his room for four whole days, only sliding him his meals and escorting him to the bathrooms three times a day.

As time went on, Tom was always blamed for any oddities that took place within the orphanage. When the kitchen had suddenly burst into flames, it had been him. He had been locked away for over a week that time.

A few years back, a day after his ninth birthday, when little Georgina fell down the stairs and broke both of her legs, it had been him. The child had been inside his room and had ruined one of his books by coloring inside the cover. He had never intended on the girl ever having the ability to walk again, but he must've not willed her death hard enough. He hadn't come out of his room on his own, that time, for over a week and pretended he was sick. However, instead of wilting away in a bed for show, he stood by his window and watched as the children played outside. He remembered staring hard at Phillip, a young teen who was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, and had gasped when the boy went straight to his knees, clutching at his head as if he were in the most pain he had ever been in before. It was only when Tom blinked, that Phillip released his head and pulled his hands away, a dark crimson staining both of his appendages. From then on, Tom knew that he wasn't a _normal_ boy like the others. He was different...and it was the only happiness that Tom had felt in a very long time.

He was ten now, a tall boy for a young age and he rarely ever went outside of his room. He liked it best when he was alone. The silence allowed him to concentrate on the things he could do, the things that he _wanted_ to do. Besides, it wouldn't turn out well if his snake got out of the room. It was persistent in following him absolutely everywhere, sliding across the shadows lining the walls, along the gutters around the Orphanage, and even through the pipes when it wanted to have some fun. Nagini, was his only friend, the only thing he ever chose to talk to. Having the ability to talk to snakes wasn't something that he figured most people could do and it only furthered to escalate his pride in knowing he was better than _these_ people. He didn't belong here, but where else was he supposed to go? He wouldn't dare lower himself to begging in the streets. Never.

He could hear Mrs. Cole's voice out in the hall, strangely closer to his bedroom than usual. She rarely ever wandered this far down the hall.

After telling to Nagini to hide, he slowly crept towards the door to place his ear upon the wood. A door had been opened from across the hall and it immediately spiked his curiosity. No one occupied that room.

He had quietly pulled his door open a crack, putting his head through to watch the individuals from across the hall. Mrs. Cole had her back turned but was speaking to a boy; a scrawny child with messy black hair that stood up in every which direction. When the boy - Harry, as he learned from Mrs. Cole's loud chatter - turned and stared back at him, he couldn't help but narrow his eyes in suspicion at the new arrival. Crooked glasses with bright, emerald eyes didn't falter as they held against his own. Many people never held his stare, not more than a few seconds, but this boy...had no problem.

By the time Harry focused back onto Mrs. Cole, Tom had already closed his door and hissed a string of sentences towards Nagini as she slithered out from her place underneath his dresser.

" _He's different"_ Tom said as he walked back to the center of his bedroom. " _Something isn't right with that one."_

Nagini had swirled around his bedpost to crane her neck up at him, flicking her tongue out as her mouth produced it's language. " _He's like you, not normal. Magical…"_

" _Magical?"_ Tom repeated, zeroing down on his pet snake with serious eyes. " _Are you positive?"_ Wordlessly, Nagini nodded her scaled head to confirm her words.

Someone else was like him? He wanted to feel angry that he wasn't as special as he thought, he wanted to stomp across the hall and choke Harry until his face turned blue and those green eyes lost their vibrancy. He wanted to dismember the boy, limb from limb, and tie his body up in the trees for the crows to feast on. He wanted...Tom paused, feeling a strange calm wash over him. Was this relief? A fresh breath of air that told him he wasn't alone anymore? In such a big world, Tom wasn't the only one that was odd anymore. Someone was like _him_.

He hadn't known a smile had creeped upon his face until the muscles in his cheeks started to cramp. It was good to know that he wasn't alone anymore. For once in his entire existence, Tom had something to look forward to - a friend. Therefore, hours later, when he watched as Malcolm and two other boys marched up to Harry and pushed him straight into the ground, Tom could see red creep into his vision. He had flown out of his room and down the stairs in less than a blink of an eye, pushed past a flock of insolent girls and stormed right up to the group just as they were getting ready to leave bruises and cuts across Harry's body. His hand had clamped around Malcolm's shoulder and spun him around in a fluid motion, before glaring at the blonde. It hadn't taken long until the boy was carving into his own flesh and the other two clutched at their skulls. Tom had gotten better at his...little gifts...and it barely took an ounce of concentration anymore until they were doing his bidding. When he dropped his hold on the three attackers, he didn't watch as they ran past him, crying out in pain and horror at what had happened. He only watched as Harry stared up at him in shock.

Without hesitation, he had stuck his hand out for the boy to shake. He had never been one for pleasantries, but now...now, he didn't mind so much for this kid. He said his name as the boy shook his hand weakly and grinned when the boy introduced his own self.

"Harry Potter."

It was the beginning to a friendship, if Tom was being honest. And strangely, it didn't bother him as much as he thought it would.

 **oooo**

 **Ending Note: I will be updating this once more tomorrow.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Please read the ending note that I have** **attached** **at the bottom. Thank you!**

Chapter 3:

Life had gotten easier with Tom Riddle around. No one ever dared to pick on him anymore and by some miracle, Tom had always managed to convince the other children to do their chores for them instead. " _Only servants do servant work_ ," Tom had told him so long ago. Harry had been at Wool's Orphanage for over six months now and since the very beginning, had never once had to clean a single dish, fold a pair of pants, or prepare the tables before their meals.

Life at Wool's Orphanage was the best that Harry had ever lived and it was all thanks to Tom.

In the first days that Tom had spent in his company, Harry had been unsure on how to act, whether this boy was actually giving him friendship or a simple welcoming as an act of kindness. But as the weeks went by, Harry began to understand two things. One, was that Tom didn't have friends and only ever spoke to him. And two, the word Tom and kindness didn't go in the same sentence. Not in the slightest form.

Harry liked to think of their friendship as a balance beam; Tom did that hard work that involved terrorizing the other children while he kept Tom in check by making sure the older boy didn't cross the fine line on too many occasions. Tom would be the one to stomp on anyone that simply looked in their direction as _he_ liked to take a more civilized approach that usually dealt with talking rather than the quick, tyrant behavior that Tom was accustomed to. The other children found their relationship odd, and Harry didn't question why they would all believe such ways because he too found it to be quite puzzling sometimes. It didn't take a genius to know that Tom wasn't a nice person especially when the older boy had no friends despite being in Wool's Orphanage his entire life and also because the other children within the house were downright terrified of him. Fear was only taught to children so young by them witnessing it firsthand, being up close to something they knew to shy away from could only be learned from personal experience. No one _ever_ came up to Tom unless they didn't scare of the consequences that would follow.

From the start of his time at Wool's, Harry had heard the whispers. The small brushes against his ear drums that were warning him that Tom wasn't safe and that he needed to fear for his own life but he had enjoyed the protection too much. He thrived in knowing he was untouchable to the others after years of abuse and if that meant turning a blind eye when he would catch Tom setting something on fire or pushing a child into a wall, then that's what Harry did. With ease.

Somehow, however, as time continued its journey onward, Harry began to realize that he depended on Tom far much more than he had ever depended on anyone in his life. He had never had friends but Tom had turned into someone that he looked up to, that he felt safe when in his presence and that would fill the void of loneliness that he had known since his earliest memories. However, just as much as Harry leaned on Tom, Tom leaned back. When the older boy would get locked away in his room, it was _him_ that snuck across the hall and picked at the lock. It was Harry that would drive Mrs. Cole's attention off of his devious friend when he knew she was searching for his whereabouts, and it was him that would sneak an extra biscuit from the tray to give to Tom because he knew they were his favorite and Mrs. Cole would always watch Tom with hawk eyes, following after his every move. They simply depended on each other and that's how they moved on with their lives as the months went on.

" _A friend is a brother given by fate,"_ Tom had said one day in the early winter. They were both enjoying their spare time in the orphanage's small library sitting side by side on a worn couch as a fire blazed before them. Harry had never been much of a reader but Tom was and the older boy didn't waste any time before handing him his absolute favorites among his collection - with authors such as Edgar Allen Poe, Clayton Rawson, and Bram Stoker. Tom certainly did have an interest in more... _darker_ selections of literature than Harry would've liked but he enjoyed the smile (however minuscule it may be) it would bring to Tom's face when he would finally finish one of the novels.

" _What_?" he had asked dumbly in return. He had been too caught up in a book where a man explained his fascination of the dark, how it was easy for a hunter to hide until it was time to catch its prey and break its neck in one swift pull. This particular novel had been pulled directly from the small pile beneath Tom's bed.

Tom turned his book over to show him the title, _Falconer_ , before he repeated the quote from earlier. "' _A friend is a brother given by fate'. It's what the book says."_ Tom seemed to be thinking it through, rolling the idea around in his head until he turned his dark gaze upon him, looking as if he had made a startling discovery. " _Do you believe that to be true?"_ he asked with a serious tone that meant this was no time for one of Harry's infamous remarks. From an early start Harry had learned when Tom meant business and that it was never wise to not do the same. Tom didn't have the patience for insolent behavior and it set him off like a match when Harry did so. But that had been in the past for months now. Harry had already learned from his mistakes.

" _I suppose so,"_ he answered. Truthfully, he had heard of too many tales where family members betrayed their own but he knew Tom already knew that. It's why he never had enjoyed the idea of making friends in the first place. You always had to keep friends close but enemies closer, it was just that sometimes, some people couldn't distinguish between the two. " _Do you?"_

Tom was silent for several long moments, his eyes staring directly into the fire as it burned before them; the shadows were licking across his face and tinted his angular planes with something that gave Harry chills. " _I've only ever had you, Harry,"_ Tom's troubled gaze flickered up into his own. " _Everyone else was too…"_ the older boy trailed off as he looked for the right word. Apparently, it hadn't mattered in the end as he quickly deviated back to his original question. " _If it_ _ **were**_ _true, then that would mean that those...special people...we chose to have in our lives, can turn into something more than friends. True friendships are rare to find in this world but I suppose...I suppose if you find a right person then why not use the relationship to benefit from it?"_ Tom turned to watch him intently. " _Like us,"_ he treaded. " _We use each other but we also respect one another in the process. We're the perfect example."_

" _So you do believe in it then?"_

Tom cocked his head to the side, putting his attention once more on the fire. " _To an extent, yes. Not all friends are going to stay by your side in life. It's a lesson everyone learns eventually. But...but not us, Harry. We have nowhere else to go. Nowhere to run or hide or escape from this world. We only have this damn orphanage and… and each other. You're the only friend I've ever chosen to have."_ Harry watched as Tom's jaw clenched. " _If_ _ **fate**_ _,"_ he spat the word out, " _turned us both into orphans...then it was fate that brought us both to Wool's. Fate brought you - my friend."_

" _A friend is a brother given by fate,"_ Harry echoed, this time nodding his head as he understood what Tom was getting at.

Tom mirrored his actions, nodding his head in confirmation as he continued to stare into the abyss; his eyes were unfocused as if he weren't really there yet his attention was absorbing every word being put into the air. " _Brothers,"_ Tom whispered so gently that Harry had to strain his ears to hear. Harry had never had a family before. The word was strange on his tongue, sitting there like a foul taste that left him wanting more. He had always dreamt of his family, the faceless people he had never met or the possibility of siblings he never knew if he had. The bond was something he had always longed for. There were nights when he would cry himself to sleep just thinking about it.

He didn't have a family, didn't have the love that could only be registered from parent to child and he didn't have the slightest clue on what it would feel like. It would be happiness, that he did know. And if he thought hard about it, the relationship he had with Tom was the only happiness he had ever had. It wasn't difficult to associate Tom with being family, almost as if it was natural for him to assume. Having Tom as a brother was something Harry never realized he wanted, yet alone needed.

He turned and grinned slowly at Tom, watching as the older boy stared at him, waiting to gouge his reaction. The tell tale signs of unease were already starting to drift across Tom's face.

" _Brothers,"_ he repeated, holding out his hand as Tom had done from that first day so long ago.

Tom's dark gaze drifted down to the offering but smiled as he shook his head. Instead of shaking Harry's hand, he dropped the book onto his lap and used one arm to throw across Harry's back in a makeshift hug.

Tom pulled back, grinning, before he nodded his head. " _Brothers,"_ he said again, this time stronger than before but all Harry could focus on was the raw _promise_ that it was.

Harry suddenly didn't mind being at Wool's Orphanage or the fact that he was an orphan because as long as he had Tom, his brother, everything would be fine until the end of his time.

 **00000000**

 **Ending Note: These first three chapters have been in fast forward and I apologize if anyone wanted a more in depth show of their time at the beginning BUT I need to get to the main story line because that's where all of the action will be. I only included these first three chapters to give an idea on how Tom and Harry came together and I know you (readers) won't get alot of their background information from their time at Wool's but all that you need to know is that they think of each other as actual brothers. They have a close, tight-knit relationship that will play a tremendous part later in this story. However, in order to do that I had to make Tom be somewhat approachable but now that they've already become 'brothers' I'll be giving you all a new Tom that doesn't shy away from experimenting with his darker tendencies that we all know and love so much :)**

 **That being said, Tom will be starting Hogwarts soon and since he is two years older than Harry, we'll get to see how they react without being side by side and see how truly dependable they are with one another.**

 **Until next time!**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

Harry had started to notice little things at first. When he would go to reach for something, somehow the object of his desire would slide closer until his fingers wrapped around it. Or like how when his room would get too dark, the curtains on his windows would fly open and let the sunlight pour through. Then there had even been that one time, just last week, when he had accidently caused Mildred's book to slam hard in her pig face after he had witnessed her push one of the younger children out of their chair. Her nose had started bleeding at the impact and when Tom had lifted his head towards the commotion, he had raised a curious brow before glancing at him knowingly - as if he just knew that it had been him that had been the cause. And in reality, if there was anyone that had the slightest clue what his nine year old self was going through, Tom would be it.

He had seen what Tom had the capability to do - that image from his first day at Wool's would forever be imprinted into his memory - and at the initial start of his...odd dwellings, Harry had thought that Tom's abilities were wearing onto him. He had felt a strong rush at the thought but as the weeks went by, Harry found that no matter how hard he stared at the bullies of Wool's, they would never drop to their knees in pain like Tom would make them. Harry didn't have the power to suddenly make blood pour from their bodies but he could still do things that normal people couldn't.

Tom had practically gone giddy when he had started to tell his brother about what he could do, and that was a sight all in its own. Tom never turned giddy; rarely ever laughed in general either. After that, the two of them had thrown themselves into a competition of sorts, seeing who could do what and at what extreme. Tom was always the stronger of the two, but like any good brother, he would push Harry to try harder the next time.

" _You have to better yourself,"_ Tom had said. " _So that when the day comes, you'll be prepared to overcome anything that gets in your way."_

Every time Tom would spew those infamous words of his, Harry would ask what day he was supposed to be anticipating but Tom would always shrug and change subjects. Sometimes, Harry thought that Tom didn't even know. It didn't, however, tamper Tom's crave for power nor did it slow his advance. There would be times when he would catch Tom staring so intently at an object or person, that he feared they would burst into flames or double over in death.

His reactions were always the same when he would watch Tom in action. There was two separate options he had; either be terrified of Tom's abilities to the point where he wanted to run away screaming **or** he would watch in amazement, slightly jealous that he was nowhere near Tom's talent level. There was more reactions of the later. It was rare for Harry to truly get terrified of Tom and that was when he was certain his brother had been the cause of a car wreck across the street. An entire family had crashed their automobile into a man's pickup after they had swerved into the opposite lane. None of the six individuals had survived. The youngest had only been two. That event had only happened a few months ago, just days after his ninth birthday.

Harry tore his gaze away from the piece of paper that he had been staring at for the past five minutes as his door swished open. He knew who it was automatically, no one else ever dared venture this far down the hall. Tom was always the one who opened his door anyway, apart from those few times Mrs. Cole would check that his bed was made.

"There's a funny man here," Tom said with apprehension. He nodded his head over his shoulder to gesture towards his bedroom. "Come look. He's just arrived."

Harry jumped up at the command. "Someone that's been here before?" Both of them quickly stridded across the hall to peer down through the window.

"Definitely not," Tom whispered. "Dressed something like that, I would've remembered."

Harry laughed in return, eyes absorbing every detail of the man walking up the sidewalk of Wool's Orphanage. It was a queer looking old man with grey hair and a beard that rested past the middle of his chest. The elder was dressed strangely in a set of deep purple trousers and jacket with a long, spotted scarf that sat around his neck and a bright purple overcoat that was folded across his arm.

"What do you s'pose he wants? He can't possibly be here for an adoption, he didn't bring a vehicle."

"Maybe he's someone's relative," Tom murmured. From the corner of Harry's eyesight, he caught Nagini's movement as she slithered towards Tom. "He's probably just here for a visit."

"A visit for who?"

But Tom's attention shifted to his shoulder as Nagini began to hiss into his ear. Harry always longed for a pet of his own, especially one that he could talk to and understand such as Nagini. He always tried not to eye Tom skeptically when his brother would hiss back at the reptile, but it was quite hard and a larger part of him was downright terrified of the python. It's beady green eyes always gave him the chills.

"What's she saying?" Harry asked aloud, watching as the odd man disappeared beneath them.

"She said the man is like us," Tom answered but his brows were furrowed in concentration. "She can feel his abilities like a warmth - the same that we have, only a lot stronger." He turned his head and began to hiss at the snake, Nagini staring at her owner unblinkingly.

Harry watched the interaction silently, and it wasn't until Tom stopped that Nagini nodded her head and slinked off of his arm and across the floorboards, disappearing into the shadows.

"Where is she going?" Harry tried to squint into the darkness to make out her figure, but it was impossible. Nagini had vanished.

"I told her to go find the man. It's bothersome to know he's like us," Tom's jaw hardened. "He can be a threat. Especially if he's stronger than us."

"How can you be so sure Nagini is right?" Harry asked with a raised, curious brow.

Tom turned on him in the blink of an eye, staring him down with narrowed slits. "She was right about _you_."

Harry couldn't refute that. It was still quite unsettling that the only reason Tom had ever reached out to him was because of that snake. Without her, Harry would still be that small boy who was picked on and would have spent each of his mornings elbow deep in his list of chores. A lot of things would be different; everything, actually.

"This man, someone like us, pops up out of the blue and comes to our orphanage?" Tom was talking to himself as he threw himself onto his bed. "That's too many coincidences. He's bound to be here to talk to one of us."

"What makes you think that? Perhaps he is like us but is here to talk to someone else. Maybe someone else in this orphanage is like us."

Tom scoffed. "That's impossible. Nagini would've told me the minute they arrived. There can't be that many people like us, Harry. Otherwise it wouldn't be such a secret as it is now."

"What if they keep it a secret because everyone else keeps it a secret-"

The older boy sat straight up in his bed, looking at him with a sly grin. "But we don't keep it a secret, Harry. That's the beauty of it all. We know we're different and so do the other children, even Mrs. Cole. Why else do you think they avoid us at all costs? They fear what they don't understand."

"That's hardly fair-"

"I don't give a damn about what's fair in life," Tom drawled. "It's what they deserve. If we're better than them, why hide it?"

Harry's brows crumpled in confusion. "But we don't?"

Tom's smile grew fangs. "Exactly."

 **OOOOOOOOOOOO**

 **Ending Note: Apologies for the short chapter but I'll be updating again very soon.**


	5. Chapter 5

**For those following my other story "Dragon Hearts" an update is on its way shortly!**

Chapter 5:

The funny old man had been here for him.

Nagini hadn't managed to arrive back to his room by the time Mrs. Cole was knocking on his door. They were light, indecisive taps and it instantly put him on edge. Mrs. Cole never knocked like that, at least never on his door.

From his place on the bed, he turned his head and watched as the knob slowly turned. It felt like forever until the solid wood was creaking open and two adults pushed their way in. Mrs. Cole was first but the old man was close behind.

"Tom," Mrs. Cole's voice was strained with faux sincerity and he barely managed to conceal his glare at the woman's form. "You have a visitor."

The odd man gently pushed past her and ventured farther into his bedroom. "Good evening, Tom."

But he was no fool. Tom could see the judgement behind the man's twinkling blue eyes and it made his fists chelch. Who was this old fool to think he knew better? Tom didn't bother returning the nicety and instead, turned his body to look out the window. Through the silhouette of the pane, he eyed Mrs. Cole's form as she disappeared from view.

It was just the two of them now. The man's presence felt like oil to him; the more the elder pushed inwards, the more he wanted to further away. Oil and water, the signature magnets of nature that showed not everything mixed well. Some things simply weren't meant to be thrown together. He had known that for a long time.

The man was eyeing everything in his room, his head turning from left to right as it took in his belongings - his diary on his disk, the seven stones on his window pane, the picture of the cliffside Mrs. Cole would take them for their once-a-year vacation. This was his stuff and the odd man was intruding. The blood running through his veins started to warm and he finally turned back around when he caught sight of the man reaching out to finger the boards of his wardrobe.

"You're a doctor, aren't you?" his voice was poised and cutting but he did it in a way that stayed unnoticed.

The man shook his head and Tom watched the hairs of his beard sway as he did so. With a gently grin, the man seated himself onto the end of his bed and nodded his head toward the chair at his desk, telling him to take a seat.

"No," the man said in response, shaking his head once again. "I'm a professor."

"I don't believe you." Tom said instantly. He stayed staring at the man and didn't let his gaze drop. He wanted to see the man bristle underneath his sight just like all the others did. When the elder didn't budge, he continued, "She wants me looked at." It was the truth. Mrs. Cole had said it numerous times to his face for it to be refutable. The woman hated him and knew he was different. However, from the solemn nod the man gave him, it was as if he understood. As _if_ he knew exactly what Tom had gone through in all of his days at this damn orphanage. The man couldn't possibly understand. He couldn't unless…

"They think I'm different," he didn't know why he was still talking but it was as if the man was all the reassurance that he needed.

Again the man nodded. "Well, perhaps they're right. Have you ever considered that?"

Tom clenched his jaw, feeling his muscles and skin tighten in aggravation. "I'm not mad," he snapped.

"I know that. That's why I'm here," he softly began. "I work for a school named Hogwarts - a school of _magic_."

Tom's brow twitched and the man caught the movement instantly.

"You can do things, can't you Tom?" the man's twinkly blue eyes peered knowingly at him. "Things that other children can't."

Tom narrowed his gaze at the form in front of him, tilting his head to the side as he felt the man's stare too intrusive. "I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want without training them," he stated calmly, evenly meeting the man's gaze as if they had met on several occasions. The man didn't shy away like he thought he would, like all the others did, and stayed waiting for him to continue. Tom hated it. He wanted this fool to be like the others, to go running from his room in terror and never venturing close to him ever again. He wanted this man to be scared. Tom moved his head to tilt back slightly, letting the hair fall out of his eyes and giving the man his full attention. "I can make bad things happen to people who are mean to me. Can make them _hurt..._ if I want to."

When the man pulled back slightly, Tom hid the victory that scorched through his body. Take _that_ , old man.

"Who are you?" Tom broke the stretched silence as the man appeared to regather his thoughts.

The man swallowed. "I'm like you, Tom," he said with a slow nod. "I'm _different_."

Tom knew this. Nagini had told him as much but Harry's voice somehow wedged itself into his brain. He trusted his pet with a strong portion of himself but it was easy to understand how Harry would question anything she hissed into his ear.

"Prove it."

He stayed staring at the man until there was suddenly a great light and warmth that emancipated in his bedroom. His wardrobe had bursted into flames.

The heat licked at his skin like a welcoming and nothing could stop the tugs at the corner of his lips as the flames danced within his pupils. It was power and he wanted for himself.

But just as fast as it had been produced, it was pulled back into nothingness, not a trail of smoke in the air or the smell of ash penetrating his nose. His wardrobe was in perfect condition as if the flames hadn't just been engulfing it, not a burn mark in sight.

"At Hogwarts you'll not only be taught how to use magic but to control it. Do you understand me?"

Tom stared up at the man - Dumbledore, was his name - with dark, unblinking eyes. He understood exactly what Dumbledore was telling him. The man was giving him an invitation. An invitation to attend Hogwarts, a school for magical people. People like him.

There were several emotions that were wracking through his frame. He wanted to breath in relief at the knowing that he and Harry were no longer alone in a world of ordinary people but that was just it...he and Harry were no longer as special as he thought they were. They were no longer above _everyone_. He was just a child with magic living in a world that was occupied by dozens, if not thousands, of others like him - like _them_. But, with others like him, that meant he could learn. Dumbledore had said so himself, that Hogwarts would teach him how to use his magic. How to control it and let it run through him more stronger than ever. He would learn how to become great and through those that would teach him, he would learn from their mistakes. If he truly was ordinary once more, he would better himself until he was on top again.

He had no choice.

He nodded up at Dumbledore and watched as the man grinned down at him in return. "Term starts on September 1st, Tom. When the time gets closer, one of the staff will collect you and escort you to Diagon Alley to purchase your materials for your first year." Dumbledore stood up and began to gather his coat in his hands. "Hogwarts will become your home, Tom. You'll find that when you need it, it will always provide for you." With his parting words, Dumbledore bid him farewell and turned towards the door.

Tom silently watched the man's form as he reached for the doorknob and just as he pulled it open, Tom's mouth was already forming words.

"I can speak to snakes too," he broke the silence. He wasn't blind to the way Dumbledore's back and shoulders tensed. "Is that normal for someone like me?"

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Harry's mouth was agape as he listened to Tom retell everything Dumbledore had told him. Neither of them could fully believe that there truly was a place where people like them were destined to be and not trapped in an orphanage such as the one they found themselves in.

"We'll get the best of two worlds," Tom had said, a grin on his face like never before. "We'll rise to power and take over both of them! No one will be able to stop us once Hogwarts teaches us everything."

His words of excitement startled Harry out of his own glee, causing his brows to furrow in confusion. "What do you mean rule?"

Tom rounded on him in the blink of an eye, the glint present in his dark iris' more bolder than ever. "We'll be able to do whatever we want, take whatever we need whenever we want to. If we're already this good, imagine what we'll be able to do when we learn how to expand it, control it to bend to our will. Harry, we'll be unstoppable."

Harry wanted to ask why they would need to rule, that it didn't make sense that they would be invited into a world only for them to take advantage of it. Why would Tom automatically assume the world would need to be ruled over to begin with? Everything had order, with specific individuals that did specific tasks to purposefully make sure that it didn't crumble apart into their hands. Harry was sure that the Wizarding World would follow the same guidelines and for Tom to break it all apart would be detrimental.

Because, after all, without order, everything turns to chaos and who were they to decide the fate of thousands?

 **OOOOOOO**

 **Ending Note: There's going to be a few more fast forward chapters that are going to cover Tom's first two school years at Hogwarts alone which are going to be very important for the development of this story then we'll have Harry arriving (which means Hermione's introduction as well!) then the pace will start to slow as their school years get started. The main part of this story is going to be during Tom's last two years and will continue after his graduation and in that span there will be heavy TOMIONE :)**

 **However until then, I have to provide the background portion of this story so I hope all of you are enjoying it so far!**

 **As always, R &R! THNKS**


	6. Chapter 6

**Tom's first year!**

Chapter 6:

 _September 5, 1989_

 _Dear Harry,_

 _Hogwarts isn't what I thought it would be. It's fantastic in a way of its own with ghosts roaming the halls, enchanted staircases, and lessons about every aspect of the Wizarding community. Living in a castle has perks all in its own but it doesn't feel much like a home like Dumbledore had informed me only a few months ago. It feels like centuries since then with so much change in such a small amount of time. He teaches a subject called Transfiguration, by the way, which is quite interesting but I enjoy Potions the most. The man who teaches it is named Slughorn, a big man with an odd resemblance to a walrus and a fascination with the top students. He keeps pictures of them and places them all around his classroom. I hope one day I will be able to be kept on his wall only because I want him to know my potential. I know I have it. The very moment I walked through the main doors it's as if something was calling me but I haven't had the time to explore as I would like._

 _I was sorted into the house I wanted, Slytherin, remember? The House of Snakes, fitting I would say, for someone like me. I know Nagini would've loved it here but she'll have to wait until I find a way around the rules or at least find a spot for her to live and hide. I haven't approached anyone new yet. I've stayed to myself and have kept busy with the homework I've been given. I haven't allowed myself to stray from being focused. Most of my free time is spent in the library reading every and any book I can get my hands on. There's a Restricted Section that I don't have access to at the moment but I'll find a way in eventually. I have to be the best, remember Harry?_

 _I know when you get here in a few years you'll love it. I'm sure it'll be better when the two of us are living in the same quarters again but until then, this will have to do. You'll enjoy being in Slytherin, which I'm more than positive you'll be sorted into. You're too much like me anyway. Our common room is beneath the Great Lake, which is home to a giant squid that we can see swim past our porthole windows every once in awhile. The Sorting Hat is a bit weird though. It reads your thoughts in order to correctly place you but it also takes your choice into consideration, so I've heard. Everyones is different. Mine took less then a second before the hat was yelling out "Slytherin!" There was some that took nearly ten minutes. But there's nothing to worry about on your part, I'm sure._

 _This is the beginning of something great, Harry. I can feel it. I was destined to be here, as you are too. I hope all is well at the orphanage and just remember that they can't touch you if you don't let them._

 _Your brother, Tom._

 _oOoOoOoOoOo_

 _September 20, 1989_

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I've learned more than I originally anticipated. At times it feels that I've always known all along but didn't want to accept the reality of it. The Wizarding World is no different than the world you and I have grown up in, brother. Power and status runs everything here. Students with wealthy parents and sacred last names have more power than I've ever imagined and it's as if the majority of them are in Slytherin with myself. They're stuck up. They keep their noses in the air and look down at everyone, myself included. I'm looked over because no one recognizes my surname and that, apparently, means everything here. Titles run everything in this world. The Wizarding World is run by an elite group of Purebloods, a term that I am quite accustomed to after only a few short weeks in this school. Most of them are worse than any bully I have ever seen. I've seen more than a few spit into the faces of the other house members simply because of blood status'. Muggleborns...or Mudbloods as the Purebloods refer to...are the targets in this school that all the Purebloods unleash their hell upon. They think they're (literally) dirt and (literally) have mud in their blood, quite foolish if you ask me. I've stayed to myself still and only get a few questioning stares a week but soon they'll make their way to me. There aren't that many students in this school, after all._

 _Another thing that I find quite odd is that Dumbledore has gone at all costs to avoid me, well, Slytherins in general. It was unexpected to see him act so vastly different towards my house compared to the others - Gryffindor's are his favorite but they're far too reckless and bold for my liking, Ravenclaw's rarely have their noses out of their books, and Hufflepuff's are so loyal they travel to the loo as if it's a houseparty. It's not that I care though. I have far more important things to be doing which still consist of spending every hour tucked away in the library. It's aggravating to see the other students walk past it without a care in the world. Don't they understand that knowledge is power? If I am no Pureblood, or from a wealthy wizarding family, then I have to gain my respect elsewhere. I will show them what I am worth even if I have to shove it under their stuck up noses._

 _Oh, and make sure you don't let Nagini venture into the water pipes anymore. The days are starting to get too chilly and I would hate for her to freeze to death._

 _Until next time. Tom_

 _oOoOoOoOoOo_

 _October 21, 1989_

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I told you they'd come after me one day. I haven't felt this enraged in a very long time. A foolish part of myself had believed that because we shared the same house, they would have a decent amount of respect towards me, but I was wrong. Which will never happen again. Mark my words brother, one day they will reap what they sow. And when that day comes, I will show them no mercy._

 _Tom._

 _oOoOoOoOoOo_

 _November 4, 1989_

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I've taken something that doesn't belong to me. It was easy to do and I doubt Professor Slughorn will even notice. It was nothing grand, just a book with a dark cover and a sickening title of 'Lethal Arts of the Dark'. The title alone is why I snagged it. I've been reading it in my spare time and brother, the material makes my skin raises in anticipation at the horrors it details. It's beautiful and I can hardly put the book down between my meals. I catch myself practicing the wand movements more than I concentrate on my lessons but it's all boring stuff compared to Slughorn's book. Maybe one day soon I can try out a spell on one of the Purebloods. Surely slicing into their throats would give them quite the scare. Wouldn't you agree?_

 _Your brother. Tom_

 _oOoOoOoOoOoOo_

 _December 8, 1989_

 _Dear Harry,_

 _There are things that I would rather say in person and not write on a simple piece of parchment. It's far too embarrassing to be put into words. Winter holiday is in a few days and when I arrive to Wool's I will tell you everything._

 _Tom._

 _oOoOoOoOoOoOo_

"They're bastards!" Tom seethed, pacing back and forth across the carpet in his bedroom as Harry stayed quiet, watching him with wide green eyes. "They think they can do whatever the hell they please and that I have to sit there and take every insult they throw at me! I don't even know where they got the information that I'm an orphan but no doubt it was that fool Dumbledore. I've seen the way he looks at me, Harry! He bloody hates me and I wouldn't put it past him to personally sick those inbred Pureblood bastards on me like a pack of wild dogs."

Harry stared in confusion. "But why would he do that? He's a professor and I thought you said he hates all Slytherins, not just you?"

Tom sighed heavily, running his fingers through his perfect hair. It was a clear sign that his brother - perfect, composed Tom - was starting to crack. It was terrifying to witness.

"Because he bloody well can! Harry, I swear on my life that I will kill them all-"

"You're being a bit dramatic, Tom, don't you think?."

A harsh laugh escaped Tom's throat. "There will be nothing dramatic when I tear them to shreds. They'll deserve everything that happens to them, you watch."

"And who are you to decide to be their judge? If they've wronged so many already, what makes it right for you to do something about it?"

Slowly, Tom turned to focus his dark eyes on him. "Because I'm the one they will learn to fear and just when they'll beg for my forgiveness...there won't be anything left of them."

 _oOoOoOoOoOoOo_

 _February 11, 1990_

 _Dear Harry,_

 _Many of the students were still in jolly moods for the majority of January, so naturally, I hadn't been harassed as usual. But one's relief can only last for so long, as everything good in the world eventually comes to an end. Their taunts are starting to get repetitive, mainly consisting of them poking fun at my orphan status but they are simply words I have heard dozens of times even from Muggles. That isn't to say their actions don't speak louder than words because they do. It's quite barbaric, in my opinion, when wizards and witches pick their hands as their weapons over their wands. Why not use magic when it flows steadily through your veins like a heartbeat? It's ironic in a way that Purebloods would pick something as anti-magic as punching or tripping. You would think with their access to lineages of magic, they would never second guess using anything but their wands. Then again, with the unholy amount of inbreeding that takes place among the Pureblood society, it isn't that surprising to find they're lacking in cranial activity. I wonder what Flint would do if I were to say that to his hideous troll face, or even to Warrington. In due time, I'm sure. One of these days though, my actions will speak louder than their's ever have._

 _Your brother, Tom._

 _oOoOoOoOoOoOo_

 _March 23, 1990_

 _Dear Harry,_

 _You would've been proud of me today, brother. I have finally taken it upon myself to put my skills to use. Practicing in abandoned classroom has done me well. I used one of the spells from the book I stole from Slughorn, a nasty little curse that breaks bones cleanly in half. I had chosen my target well, after hours of consideration. Merlin knew I would've wanted nothing more than to use it on that troll bastard Flint but I felt it would be too noticeable. I chose a Pureblood, nonetheless. It was a Slytherin girl, one a few years above me that had an ugly attitude towards practically everyone. I had seen her, on many occasions, bully the other Muggleborns and Half Bloods but it wasn't until she had made a snarky comment about my high marks ("I don't understand what professors would favor riffraff like you over the more worthy Purebloods in your year") and accused me of being the center of a pity party that the school was running. So, you could've imagined my excitement when I waited for her to make her way down one of the staircases. I've had to memorize each pattern of the staircases and I'm afraid they'll forever be etched in my memory. When the girl had taken her first few steps down the stairs, I had shot the curse out from my position behind one of the statues. She hadn't even seen what hit her and to my relief, there had been no one else passing by at the moment. The girl had screamed when her left leg snapped in half and with nothing to grab onto, she tumbled down the remaining steps until she slipped off of the end. To her luck, however, there was a staircase directly below the one she had been on so she simply fell a story down but did manage to crack several of her ribs at the impact. Her cries are still playing within my skull, Harry. It truly is a beautiful sight to see revenge being acted upon so ruthlessly. My hand is still trembling in disbelief, it's fantastic. And I think the best part of it all is that I know if I wanted to do it again, I could._

 _I do, however, envy you at the moment because I know Mrs. Cole will be taking you all to the cliffside for the Spring Break vacation. It feels like ages since I've been there and even though I'll never take another trip with the orphanage due to Hogwarts term schedule, I know I will somehow see it again. It is, after all, one of my most favorite places. Maybe one day we can go there together when we are grown and successful wizards on our own?_

 _Your brother, Tom._

 _oOoOoOoOoOoOo_

 _April 30, 1990_

 _To my unease, Professor Slughorn has began to take a fascination with me. I know at the beginning of the year I wanted it, but now that I do have it, I find it quite tiresome and I honestly spend the most of my time in his presence worried I'll do or say something wrong. He's always asking for my opinions on matters I hardly care about but I find it irritating to disappoint him especially with everything that he provides for me in return. I've began talking to him about my interest in Defense Against the Dark Arts and as predicted, he has a vast private collection that he has no problem loaning out. I've already read through three of his books that he keeps secured behind a locked cabinet and he applauds me on eagerness to succeed. Everytime he sees me, he refers to me as, "Tom, my boy", and isn't shy on stating that he sees great things in my future. He's set on the idea that I'll turn out to be the next DADA professor here at Hogwarts or perhaps become a high positioned Ministry worker. Both seem quite below my potential, if I'm being honest with myself. I've always envisioned more...powerful positions that I have yet to discover in the Magical World. Perhaps, I'll create a job all in its own? That way I can do whatever I want, whenever I want to. Maybe I'll become one of the richest and most powerful wizards in the world because of it. Then, those Purebloods wouldn't stand a damn chance against me. How does the title 'Professional Pureblood Exterminator' sound?_

-Tom

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

 _May 28, 1990_

 _Dear Harry,_

 _Finals are starting to edge closer and it's rare to not find anyone buried deep within their lesson books. Flint and the others haven't managed to take the time and bother me any so I'll take the small blessing for what it's worth. Flint, however, could use more than a few of his own. The poor sod is rumored to be failing so badly that they've threatened to make him repeat his third year. The only reason he gets any pity from me is because that would mean I'd be stuck with his miserable arse for another entire year. I'm debating on whether or not I should just end his misery here and now, instead of long the process out because eventually Flint will be a thing of the past, a distant memory at most. I would be doing the world a favor anyhow. First the Pureblood girl, now Flint, I'd be considered a Saint here at Hogwarts. A protector of those lesser than the 'pureblood' status. But Flint wouldn't survive to tell the tale like the girl. And in time, his death would be a mystery even to me._

 _Your brother, Tom._

 _oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

 _June 14, 1990_

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I knew all of my hard work would pay off eventually. We've received our exam grades and I've passed them all with the best markes. Headmaster Dippet called me into his office to inform me that I am the top boy in my year. Harry, do you understand what this means!? I've shown them all that it doesn't matter about stupid blood status' and that just because they don't know who you are at first, it doesn't mean you can't make them eventually. They all know who I am know. They know that despite not coming from a wizarding family, I have bested them all. I am just as good as them, better than them. But now that I'm on top, means that I can't stop. I have to keep my spot and I refuse to allow anyone to take it from me._

 _I'll be home soon, brother. These months make it feel like forever since I've last seen you but summer will be the time just for us. I'm going to teach you everything I know so that when you start Hogwarts, you'll be prepared for everything. I can already picture you procrastinating until the very last minute with your studies so hopefully you'll have a head start that will keep you from becoming the next dunce. Merlin forbid this school have another Marcus Flint._

 _With love, your brother. Tom._

 _oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

"Why can't you show me one simple spell?" Harry whined. He had spent the last hour rummaging through Tom's trunk and had thumbed every textbook from front to back. Tom's green and silver scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck despite the summer heat and yet still Harry insisted on wearing the Slytherin robes as well.

Tom turned to eye him humorously, Nagini resting on his shoulder. " _Because_ , Harry. I follow the rules-."

A snort filled the room. "Please. If that's true then I'm not a homeless orphan."

"-and the rules clearly state no magic outside of school until I become of age." Tom continued as if Harry hadn't spoken. "The last thing I want is for my magic to be taken away just when I've started to learn how to use it."

"You said you'd teach me. How are you going to do that if you can't even perform magic?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "You don't have to perform the spells to know them. For now, learn the wand movements and the incantation and you'll be fine. You won't be able to perform magic until you are inside of Hogwarts anyways."

"Then what's the use of-"

"You know I hear an awful lot of talking and not reading."

Harry groaned loudly but picked up the nearest textbook anyways. He had already forced his attention onto the words so he didn't see the pleased grin spread across Tom's face.

 **OOOOOOO**

 **The next year is going to go by in a similar fasion.**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7:

It was getting easier and easier to leave through the main doors of Wool's Orphanage each and every time it was his turn to venture back into the world that he truly belonged in. Once he pushed them open, he kept his eyes straight on his destination until his feet were firmly planted on the sidewalk, beyond the confinements of the gated fence where he would wait, watching as the random muggles strolled by or the vehicles that drifted by. He could feel the pair of eyes staring sadly at his departing form yet, he still wouldn't turn to look back towards the building until he was seated in a seat on the Knight Bus with his trunk at his feet and his wand clutched in his hand. It would only be when the driver blew the whistle that signaled their departure that he would remember _who_ he was leaving, having been too caught up in the thrill of returning to Hogwarts to actually feel the sting of their separation. He'd remember to wave goodbye only seconds before the bus disappeared from his brother's view and then all thoughts of Harry would simply disappear. He hated the way longing for his brother felt, as if there was a large part of him missing, and he desperately tried to not linger on his absence. It would only been another year now until Harry would be joining him at Hogwarts and in the meantime, he had his own life to live.

He would write to Harry, as he always did, but the very second he finished a letter and sent it off with one of the school owls, it was back to focusing on school and the life he lived at Hogwarts - the life he lived _apart_ from Harry. It never failed that he included the details of what he went through while at the school but for the most part, he didn't tell his brother absolutely _everything_. There were certain things that he wanted Harry to enjoy on his own, like he did. The sheer magic of the school could never be simply described in a few lines of a letter, only someone themselves could experience it when they walked through the halls. And just as much as he had enjoyed it, he wanted Harry to as well.

But now...things were different. The Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry that he had went to the year before wasn't the one he was walking through at that very moment. There had been changes and it felt that the school itself had shifted its own walls to accommodate for it. It was hard to explain exactly, but Tom had a sure feeling he knew what the source was from. Something big had changed and it was the form of their Headmaster, the one who controlled everything within the school. During their first night back, he had been on edge immediately when he had watched Dumbledore glide towards the golden stand and peer down at all of the students. He had known the very second when Dumbledore cleared his throat, that he certainly wouldn't like whatever announcement was coming his way and he was right. Dippet had fallen ill during the summer and had passed into the afterlife, leaving Hogwarts rightfully Headmaster- _less_ and in his place, Dumbledore emerged to unleash his command. The sweet smile on the old fool's face made Tom's stomach churn with unease and he was certain that throughout his speech, the man's beady stare had locked directly on him several times and there had been no kindness in them. However, Tom hadn't backed down. Everytime he was sure that Dumbledore looked in his direction, he made sure the old man met his leveled glare. At one time, not that long ago, the fact that Dumbledore didn't like him had made a sense of dread fill him from head to toe because the man appeared to care for everyone - Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs, that is. And although Tom had hardly ever been ignorant, he had gotten the impression that Dumbledore had liked him at the beginning. Somewhere after the new Headmaster left Wool's, a dislike had grown between them and Tom didn't have the first clue on why that was. Being sorted into Dumbledore's least favorite house had nothing to do with it either because the stares had been prominent before his sorting as well. But now...now Tom simply didn't give a fuck. It would be tiresome to have him as the new Headmaster but at least that would mean he didn't have to deal with him in class anymore. In his place, a woman had been brought in to teach Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall was an elder woman who always wore a tall, pointed hat and had the odd ability to make a person feel like they automatically did something wrong when, in fact, they had done nothing at all. He didn't think much of her apart that she was quite skilled due to her age but he would appreciate the talent nonetheless.

He tended to force himself to do that a lot actually, to find the undebatable magical talent that some of these students and professors obtained. Of course there were those _fickle_ individuals that didn't deserve the magic that ran through their veins but it wasn't as if he could change it. He wished he did, Merlin knew that, but he wasn't _that_ powerful. Not yet, at least. If he were, he certainly wouldn't have to be dealing with -

"Well if it isn't the little swot," Flint's nasty face sneered down at him. He swore that if he didn't know better, he would have said the older boy was infatuated with him if he were to by the way he stalked him at every minute. He had always considered himself to be a good-looking lad but this was just ridiculous especially since he had seen Flint attempt to shove his tongue down some poor girl's throat that one time. He nearly shuddered as he recalled that awful moment, but not quite.

He squared off his shoulders as Flint approached and made sure to slip his wand into his fingers from its hiding spot in his sleeve. A good slicing hex across Flint's throat would definitely do the trick to shut him up but that would lead to a one way trip to Azkaban if Dumbledore had any say. And there was no way in hell that Tom would allow himself to waste away in some piss filled hole knowing that he had potential to rule the world. Being locked up simply wouldn't do...unfortunately.

The corners of his lips tilted up as he eyed the pile of books underneath Flint's arms, with several pieces of parchment sticking out after ever so few pages. It appeared the Slytherin had been attempting to study, if that's we he called that mess in his hands. _What an idiot,_ Tom thought to himself. How did Flint expect to become a decent wizard if he didn't even take the time to actually learn the spells? A few year one spells could only take someone so far and not by much in a duel if they expected to survive unscathed. Whoever had been placed up against this moron must have passed with flying colors.

"I'd rather be a _swot_ than someone who can't tell the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane," he said with an arrogant grin when Flint's brows furrowed together at the insult. The funniest part was that Flint had no clue they were the same plant. "It must be quite embarrassing to have to repeat a year, especially for someone with a _pureblood_ status such as yourself. Makes a person wonder if all of that prejudice bullshite has a valid point or if their children are fuck-ups from all of the incestrial inbreeding. It's hard to tell," he let his dark gaze travel Flint's form, head to toe, to make his point.

If there was anything that made his skin crawl more than Dumbledore, it was the Purebloods, including Flint, that acted as if they ran the school. They believed they had a born right to rule the Magical World and all of those with the less-than-pure bloodlines. It was unbelievable how horrid they were, and it was as if everything they passed they thought they had a right to show their dominance...their _superiority_. Those were the real ones who didn't deserve their magic. They were the ones who didn't know what it was like to have nothing - no powerful bloodlines, no spare galleons in their pockets, no family or friends. They had everything handed to them on a shiny bloody platter and it simply wasn't fucking fair. It was unbelievable to him that there were witches and wizards out there that would spit in his direction and worship someone as Flint just because of the blood that gave his body life. Flint would have been better off if he had been born a squib yet there were those that would chose to stay ignorant of the idiot's mental status just because they couldn't stand to have someone like _him_ excell with his own magic.

Therefore, it felt good to watch as Flint's face flushed red in embarrassment at his words. The older boy had tightened his hold against the books in his hands but his hands were clenched tight in fury. "How dare you," he spat through clenched teeth. In his haste for retribution, Flint threw his books down onto the floor and reached for his wand beneath his robes. However, Tom had his out and firing before Flint's fingers had the chance to brush against the sacred wood. The Knockback Jinx struck Flint squarely in his chest and sent the wizard flying several meters back. His robes had flapped wildly around him as he landed in a messy heap, his eyes wide in fear and disbelief and _anger_.

"What the _fuck_ Riddle-"

Tom had crossed the hall and pointed his yew wand straight down at Flint, leaving the older boy staring up and the words effectively dying in his throat. With a tilt of his head, he grinned down at Flint's rumpled appearance. "A word of advice, _Flint_ ," he drawled out. "If you ever draw your wand on me again, I will kill you. Do you understand?"

The trollish teen glared up at him silently - _defiantly_ \- and Tom decided he didn't like it. With a strong incantation and swish of his wan, Flint's wand arm snapped. The crunch was loud enough to bounce against the empty corridor but before a scream escaped Flint's throat, Tom had set a silencing charm around the two. The sounds Flint managed to produce were mesmerizing to Tom's ears. The pure agony was intoxicating to him after so many months of being Flint's target for ridicule and taunts. He didn't feel bad as Flint stared down in horror at the odd angle his broken arm stuck out because the older Slytherin deserved all of this. Every last bit of it and so much, _much_ more.

When Flint's harsh sobs diluted into pathetic whimpers, Tom chuckled down into his face as he took in the Slytherin's tear streaks down his face. "Imagine what they'd say if they found out a second year did this to you," he taunted. "The most callous _bully_ reduced to nothing, right before my very eyes. It must be my lucky day."

Flint attempted to shift his weight but at the change, he howled in pain. "Why- why'd you-" he attempted to talk between his huff's but Tom merely shook his head, ordering the boy to shut up.

" _Please_ , Flint," he scoffed. "Don't act like you didn't see this coming. I'd be doing the world a favor if I ended you right here and now." At his words, the remaining color drained from Flint's face, leaving him deathly pale. Flint's silence was glorious.

"Now listen to me very carefully," Tom shifted, his dark eyes harshly glaring down into Flint's own brown orbitals. "If you ever so much as _look_ in my direction again, I swear that I will make sure you regret the day that you were born. Do we have an agreement, _Flint_?"

Flint's chest was heaving violently and Tom was sure that if looks could kill, he'd be lifelessly sprawled across the hall. However, unlike before, Flint's silence began to grate on his nerves. He clenched his jaw before sending another flick of his wand towards Flint's leg. The crunch was even more satisfying than the first as Flint's head jerked back when he registered the pain.

"I asked you a question. I believe it would do you well to answer," he warned. "Did you really think I would allow you to continue to make those pointless jabs for the rest of my time here at Hogwarts? They were _quite_ tiresome after a while. Eventually I had to put an end to them, you can respect that, right?"

Shakily, Flint nodded his head. "Y-yes-"

Tom grinned. "Now, for our previous agreement?" For its effect, he waved his wand ever-so-slightly and basked in the look on Flint's face as he warily watched his movements.

Again, his head jerked up and down. A sheen of sweat had began to perspire on his face, mixing with the tears still stuck on his cheeks.

"Good," he said, sweeping his gaze down the hall as he could hear voices and footsteps approaching. "However, as much fun as our little...encounter...has turned out, I'm afraid I'll need to be on my way. I would advice you though, to get that-" he nodded down at Flint's broken and twisted limbs, "-looked at. I hear Madam Pomfrey is quite skilled at mending bones." Without further ado, Tom turned and began to walk in the opposite direction when he heard Flint sit up.

"Riddle-"

Tom didn't stop his pace but shifted his head to look over his shoulder, "Be glad it was only a few broken bones, Flint. You'd be amazed by what you'd learn if you'd read a book." And with that, he disappeared from view.

oOoOoOoOoOo

 _November 5, 1990_

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I must admit, life has gotten much enjoyable without the constant pressures from the Purebloods. It's as if they've suddenly all lost their nerve when it comes to me. Those that used to throw taunts my way, now turn the other way. It can only make me wonder what made them all learn so rapidly - not that I'm going to complain though. Classes are easier as well, and I have a feeling that it has to due with not feeling the pressure to excel in everything I do, as if the purebloods are breathing down my neck waiting for me to slip up. They know now that I'm the top student in our year and even though I know I've proved my worth - to myself more than anyone - I can still feel their despise, their hatred towards me simply because_ _ **I**_ _am better than them. Even if they no longer have the nerve to approach me as they used to, I resent them more than ever. They are spineless cowards who chose to hide behind hushed words instead of using their magic to challenge me. It's amusing, really, because they_ _ **know**_ _that I'd beat them yet they still have the audacity to think they're superior, as if they would have a chance against me. It makes me realize that these concepts of blood purity are damaging to the Wizarding World when those with "perfect" bloodlines would willingly shun those witches and wizards with real talent, someone like me. There's too much of it within the walls of Hogwarts, prejudice coating over this school like a sinful darkness. The Muggleborns and Halfbloods deserve this life just as much as any regular Pureblood and I will not simply succumb to their ideals of disappearing from the Wizarding World just because they don't want me here. I had thought that I was over the world being unkind, but in a cruel twist of fate, I have found that I resent the magical one just as much as the muggle one. It can't always be like this though, Harry. I won't let it. If the Wizarding World needs to be reformed then it will happen, even if by my wand alone. I will have the power I seek one day, brother, and when I do, the very foundation that built the Wizarding World will come crumbling down. The future is the only thing we can look forward to._

Until next time,

 _Tom._

 **OOOOOOOOOOOO**

 **Ending Note: It's short, I know, but I wanted to detail a quick show of how Tom is starting to have his rise of power and beginning to overpower the other purebloods. He had to start with Flint because that was the main bully of his year, but just wait until Harry begins his year, then we'll start to see a lot of new *sneering* faces.**

 **Oh and btw... Hermione will be appearing in the next chapter!**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8:

"If you don't hurry up, we won't be able to get our own compartment," Tom huffed as he passed by people in the dozens; parents waving goodbye to their children and students bustling about with trunks in one hand and their pet cages in the next. Like always, Platform 9 ¾ was exploding with energy and uncontrollable chaos as returning students and those anew began to rush towards the express. If Tom had been alone like the years before, he would have already been situated in his own compartment, would've already locked the door and divulged himself into a good book instead of dealing with the eager students as they ran up and down the halls of the train, shouting for their friends and meeting new faces. But, Harry was here now, eyes bright as they took in everything and everyone for the first time. It had seemed that his questions were unending and every few minutes, Tom would have to stop and explain to him what they were looking at or who was who. It was quite the tiring process, Tom would admit, but there was nothing more fulfilling than watching Harry see the fascination of the Wizarding World. It would be worth it in the end, he would surmise, when the two of them were world proclaimed wizards. All big things began small, mere setbacks would only lead to greatness in the end.

"Will it be that bad if we have to share one? It does a soul wonders to make new _friends,_ " Harry shot back but when Tom turned to look at him, his head was turned and paying attention to something off in the distance. With an annoyed eye roll, Tom continued forward. His brother was too preoccupied with his surroundings that any words he spewed were going in through one of Harry's ear and out the other. In his sleeve, he could feel Nagini slithering across his skin, ready to be set free but there were still too many eyes prying about. Harry already knew _why_ they needed their own compartment. Any word of a snake and the students would lose their shite. Yet, there were those that willingly touched a disgusting toad or bothered with those pesky owls. A snake rarely ever made a noise and Nagini was clean, smooth to the touch. Tom didn't even begin to understand exactly who picked which familiars were allowed in school and which weren't.

By the time they had reached the train, the whistle for the five minute warning was screeching in the distance. He had to practically drag Harry up the steps of Hogwarts Express and the second they entered the halls, Tom was bombarded by the students as they ran wild. It reminded him oddly of the muggle zoo that Mrs. Cole had taken them all too, not that long ago. It was as if the students had turned ravenous, pouncing upon each other in excitement the way mere monkeys played with each other. It was revolting to watch as wizards and witches acted lesser than the muggle children at the orphanage, and **that's** saying something.

But beside him, Harry was smiling ear to ear at the scene before him. Never before had he seen so much happiness as the students in all shapes and sizes laughed together as they shared their greetings. There were students in Hogwarts robes and then there were students who were dressed in regular clothing, some muggle, some wizard. Many of the younger students looked shy as they walked around and Harry knew that they were probably first years like himself, however, it appeared that many didn't have a personal chauffeur as he did. Although chauffeur wasn't the correct term as Tom yanked on his arm once more, dragging him down the impossibly crowded corridor. There was hardly any walking space as it was, but somehow Tom managed to shove the other students aside with ease. That, and the students simply parted like the Red Sea at his figure, no doubt spotting the mean glares and sneers he sent their way.

He didn't miss the sorry looks the others had given him either.

If he had enough energy to care for their opinion, Harry may have frowned back but he didn't. Tom was set on finding a quiet compartment, so that was what he was doing as well. He didn't have any other option.

It felt that the express halls went on for miles as they passed compartment after compartment, multiple students huddled together in each one and laughing as jokes were swapped. Harry would try to peer into each window they breezed past but Tom's movements were swift and quick, determined to find their belonging. As the seconds continued to drift on, Harry was beginning to think that they would never find-

"In here," Tom said, sliding the compartment door open in a fluid motion as his other hand nudged him forward. The very second that both of them were inside, Tom was already closing the door and drawing the blinds with an audible snap. "No one will bother us if the shades are closed. Not even that bloody trolley woman."

Harry's shoulders deflated. "But I wanted something from-"

"No," Tom shook his head. "It'll only ruin your dinner once we get to Hogwarts. You need to prepare yourself for your sorting anyways."

A sigh escaped Harry's lips, causing Tom to turn sharply on him, those dark eyes piercing him to the core. "You **do** want to be in Slytherin, _right_? I won't have my own _brother_ being sorted into anything else. You need a clear head, a strong forethought. That hat will read every inch of your mind, hidden or not."

"It's a _hat_ , Tom," Harry nearly rolled his eyes.

"A hat that single handedly decides your future for the next seven years. It's not something you want to take lightly."

Harry eyed Tom skeptically, his dark brows furrowed. "I don't recall you saying you had to prepare for _your_ sorting. If you got into Slytherin so easily, then I'm sure I can too."

It was then that Tom chose to focus his attention onto him. He had stilled his movement of getting situated into the compartment seat and stared at him, almost unblinkingly. "Just do as I say. _Please_."

The later was said as an afterthought, however, it was enough for his brows to raise in suspicion. His brother wasn't one who ever said that word. In fact, now that Harry thought about it, he couldn't recall _ever_ hearing that word come from his brother. That could only mean…

"You're worried, aren't you?" he shot at Tom, regarding the older boy carefully with preen eyes. Tom, however, stayed quiet as he pretended to dig out a book from his satchel. "You would only make me do this if you had _doubts_."

Tom's stare hardened. "And if I did, have these _doubts_ , would that worry you?"

Harry remained silent as he thought over Tom's words. As hard as Tom may try, Harry could easily see the unease flooding in Tom's iris'. It gave him justification that Tom, indeed, had his doubts and that was why he was trying so hard to force him into concentration of everything Slytherin. He didn't even know what it meant to be a bloody Slytherin! It could only make him wonder that perhaps, maybe he wasn't supposed to be in Slytherin. The purpose of the Hogwarts Sorting hat was to match the student in the house they belonged, not _thought_ they belonged. He wanted to be true to himself, that's what the whole purpose was. He didn't want to be a badger, or eagle, or lion in snake's clothing. He wanted to be in the place that he belonged and if that meant not in Slytherin, then could it truly be as detrimental as Tom made it seem?

Tom cleared his throat, urging him to answer his question.

"You aren't an unreasonable individual," he pointed out. "If you have doubts then that means I may not be sorted into Slytherin as we originally thought. It doesn't worry me as much as I thought it would. In a way, it'll be more exciting, with us competing against each other."

His brother cocked his head to the side, eyeing him curiously. There was an amused tilt of his mouth and it made Harry think that perhaps it wouldn't be as exciting as he figured. "You want to compete against me?" Tom asked in a sly tone. "Brothers are supposed to fight together, not apart."

Harry didn't back down from the challenge and met Tom's stare with equal force. "I suppose we'll find out once I'm sorted. If I didn't know any better, I would say that you were scared to face me. Afraid of a little competition, brother?"

Tom, however, didn't take the bait. His face dropped into its mask but he didn't bother to hide his grin, the humorous one that didn't reach his eyes.

"I can only ask you the same."

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

The first years had been separated from the others almost instantly, the very moment Hogwarts Express stopped. It was nothing unexpected for Harry, Tom had given him a play-by-play of what would happen before the welcoming feast but it didn't take away from his discomfort at the absence of his brother. It was all he had and now it was gone, whisked away in a sea of returning students as they trekked towards the castle and left him behind. He felt like he was a repellent with the way the other first years seemed to maneuver around him. Most of them were already in semigroups and chatting away as if they had been friends for years, no doubt, a useful advantage of being introduced to each other on the train. It made him wish that Tom had actually allowed _him_ to do the same. But the feeling of being alone wasn't anything new even as he watched the half-giant named Hagrid beckon them towards a shore of row boats. He thought it was a bit theatrical that they would have the first years bloody row to the school when they could've just walked with the rest of the students but it wasn't as if dwelling on the matter would, well, matter. It was just going to really take a bloody effort on rowing this thing across the-

"You wouldn't mind if we offered a hand, would you?"

His head snapped up as he heard a girl's voice and he whirled around at the proximity it had come from. If he were being honest, he was quite surprised that anyone was talking to him, let alone a _girl_. He didn't have much...experience when it came to the opposite gender and hadn't had more than a handful amount of conversations with the ones at the orphanage. This _girl_ , however, was no orphan. She was slightly smaller in stature than him but she had long, wild brown hair that went past her shoulders and pale skin that seemed to glow in the moonlight. Her eyes were warm honey as he looked in them and the white, tentative smile she displayed nearly left him speechless.

It had taken him several seconds until he snapped out of his shock and stuttered out his response. "U-uh, no, no I don't mind," he shook his head and tried to offer a smile in return. "It's just me."

If possible, her smile brightened even further. "Great," she said, turning to eye the figure at her side. It was then that Harry's own gaze slid to her right, just over her shoulder at the boy he somehow hadn't been aware of when he had first looked at her. He was taller than the both of them with dark blonde curled hair and a smile that was equally as friendly as the girls.

"I'm Hermione," the girl held out her hand towards him which he took without missing a beat. He absentmindedly observed the softness of her hand and placed in the back of his mind. "And this is Justin," she nodded her head towards the taller boy. "We met at the platform. We were both coming from...the, uh, _outside_ world."

Justin glanced apprehensively at her through the corner of his eye before clearing his throat. "We're both Muggleborns," he said defiantly, almost coldly. Justin's gaze stayed glued onto his own, almost as if he were waiting for a reaction and even more expectantly, so was Hermione. And after Tom had explained to him the horrendous display of dislike towards Muggleborns, Harry understood why the two looked so warily at him. They were waiting for him to lash out in disgust and that thought alone saddened him deeply.

Instead, he turned his head to direct his smile towards Justin before reaching out and offering his own hand toward the boy. "I'm Harry," he said, strongly aware that Hermione was staring at their clasped hands with that sweet smile of hers. "And I'm like the both of you too. I'm Muggleborn as well."

As Harry returned his hand to his side, he watched as Justin and Hermione began to get into the small boat. Justin, ever the gentlemen, held it steady with his hands as Hermione clambered in. However, just as she managed to get her feet onto the wooden floor, a small wave disrupted the balance of the rowboat and she wavered, her hands flying out to embrace anything she needed to stop herself from falling. Almost as if it were an instinct, Harry rushed forward. Harry managed to use one of his hands to grab onto her hand and the other to grip around the other end of the boat, forcing it still with his combined weight with Justin.

"Thanks," she huffed, gently blowing the away stray curls that managed to fall in her view. "I can be quite clumsy," she admitted with a blush. "I prefer when both of my feet are planted solely on the ground alone, otherwise…" she finished off with a grimace, one that Harry couldn't help but chuckle softly at. From the side, Justin climbed in after her in one quick leap and soon, Harry was doing the same.

"I'm glad we met you, Harry," Hermione shared a quick look with Justin, who nodded his head in agreement.

Harry grinned. "And why's that?" he teased in the friendliest manner he could.

At the front of the boat, Hermione settled into the row as he and Justin evenly distributed the weight for the left and right side. "Well," she emphasized, "for one, I would be completely soaked if you hadn't stopped my fall, and two, it's good that we broaden our horizon."

"Broaden our horizon?" Harry repeated curiously.

"Haven't you ever heard that there's strength in numbers?" Justin answered, his gaze settled on Harry's own. "Otherwise, who else is going to watch out for us?"

Harry diverted his attention onto Hermione. He watched as her brows rose, silently asking him to say otherwise. But they were right, even Tom had told him years before. However, what Tom didn't manage to do was find that said strength in numbers, he had left the responsibility on his own shoulders and didn't bother asking anyone to help him. Harry knew that Tom would expect him to do the same, but looking at Hermione and Justin, Harry figured that there couldn't possibly be any harm in accepting their friendship.

Because, for the most important part, he didn't want to.

Tom would understand, Harry figured. Afterall, his brother wouldn't have a choice.

 **OOOOOO**

 **Thoughts so far?**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9:

When the first years came flooding through the front doors of the Great Hall, he felt his brows inch upon his forehead in surprise as his eyes caught sight of Harry. There were many things that he would never expect of his brother, and walking side by side with a smiling _girl_ was one of them, especially with such an...emotional expression directly at Harry.

He sat up straighter on the bench as a strange tingle shot down his spine. The two looked to be on _friendly_ terms, much to his disbelief. It hadn't been an hour and Harry was already smothering himself in those fickle emotions with others, parading around without masking any of his thoughts or reactions and willingly inviting others to his side. A girl, nonetheless, was bound to be a disaster. They had a funny way of playing with your insides, or at least that's what he deciphered from the sheer stupidity fools turned into when a girl walked by. And by the looks of it, Harry was heading in the same direction.

Tom scowled as he watched the girl gently place her hand on Harry's forearm, Harry smiling in return. It was the kind of smile that Tom had never seen on Harry before; one that seemed to please the girl.

He narrowed his eyes at the girl as he took in her appearance. She wasn't a pureblood, he gathered, from the way she was openly talking with Harry - who he had no doubt was already blabbering to the world that he was from the Muggle World. So no, definitely not a pureblood. As McGonagall continued to lead the first years further down the hall, he watched her carefully as her eyes sparkled up towards the sky in fascination. It was _then_ that he knew, when he truly knew. A reaction like that was only experienced by someone who had never seen open magic such as the kind that ran throughout the walls of Hogwarts. The girl was like him; she was a Muggleborn.

He watched her carefully, allowing his dark eyes to continue boring into the side of her face. She wasn't anything out of the ordinary - pretty, yes, in what society had deemed good enough to be aesthetically pleasing to the eye - but nothing spectacular that should have his brother making an idiot of himself as he was. She had pale, slightly tanned skin, with feminine _childish_ features that hadn't yet sharped with age and thick, curled brown hair that sat voluptuously on her shoulders. She was small too, slightly below Harry's stature and thin enough to be easily controlled if needed. There was another boy, much taller than the girl or Harry, that stood on her other side but he was too enamored with his surroundings to focus on the actions of the other two next to him. Harry and the girl could be plotting his demise and he wouldn't have the slightest clue. _Bloody fool,_ Tom thought. And especially someone that wasn't worth any of his time or attention. The girl, however, she was a different story.

He inhaled sharply when he watched Harry lean towards the girl to whisper something into her ear. The way she didn't back away or show any discomfort at his proximity was enough to tell him that the two were already getting along much better than Harry got along with anyone else and in a way that was unobtainable for Tom.

It was as if the scene played out before him in slow motion as Harry muttered a simple string of words into her ear but the surprise that overtook her expression made him wish he had cast a hearing extension on the pair. When he moved his line of sight back onto the girl, his lips parted on their own accord when he found her brown eyes had locked onto his own.

Had he been staring at her for too long? Had she felt the intensity of his stare?

Her attention had switched back to Harry for the briefest of seconds as his brother nodded his head at whatever she said, then her gaze trickled back to him, slow and methodical as if she had no care in the world if he saw or not, as if she wanted him to capture her attention.

That was when _it_ happened.

He had been close to scowling at her, or glaring as meanly as he could just for her to feel intimidated. He wanted to scratch that stupid smile from her face and rip her from Harry's side before she softened him any further. But all those thoughts vanished as quickly as they had come, when the smile he had began to hate so much, was directed at him; bright and warm and sickeningly sweet that it burned to absorb. Never, had anyone given him that look before. It was too kind for him to duress. She didn't know him or the things he had done or where he was from, she just smiled, one that she meant, not like those forced grins the others would give him when they passed him in the halls or the simple nod of acknowledgement. In that moment, he could understand why Harry seemed to suddenly be so attached to her.

Tom sat frozen at the girl's display of affection, furrowing his brows as he stared back at her. The more her honey brown eyes stared at him, the more he wanted to bristle under her attention, but he couldn't. He was stuck like a deer in headlights, as if he were the victim of a horrid body binding curse.

He could do nothing but blink her away.

But the very second that he did, he had never regretted something as much as that. Harry had always told him that he needed to work on his 'kind' face.

With a painful clench of his jaw, he watched as she registered his dismissal, shuttering down like a wilted flower right before his eyes. Gone was that caring expression and fond look on her face and in its place was a girl with shielded walls; those welcoming honey eyes of hers closed off on him just as fast as they had focused on him for the first time. _A flower_ , he mused, _with sharp, deadly thorns_. It took practice to muster such a glare as hers.

He inhaled slowly through his nose. He had never cared about the feelings of others but perhaps he could have made an exception in that very moment. He could've, _should've,_ but by the time he thought of even nodding in her direction, she had shrank back into Harry's side. He kept telling himself that he couldn't have cared less if her feelings had gotten hurt but he couldn't deny that stubborn flash of guilt course through his body every time he remembered those wide eyes close off from him. It left him in a situation he had never been in before, something he had intentionally avoided for his entire lifetime by keeping himself distant from other individuals, and it left him _uncomfortable_. He hated it. He hated _her_ for ever looking at him.

With narrowed eyes, he followed the girl's movements as she muttered something into Harry's direction this time and it took less than a heartbeat until his brother's head spun around wildly, meeting his eyes with a questioningly look. He even had the audacity to raise a brow in accusation.

Tom ignored him thoroughly and made it a show of turning his attention onto McGonagall as the Sorting began. The old bat had began reading names from the scroll in her hands, and one by one, the first years went up to the stool.

Throughout the process, he felt, rather than saw, Harry's attention dart to him after every few minutes. He forced his gaze on the wobbly stool as student after student got sorted. He was hardly paying attention as each name got called, that is until he caught sight of the girl walk forward.

 _Hermione Granger_ , as the hat announced. An unusual name for an unusual girl. He decided it fit. With her head of curls held high, she marched onward to meet her fate and when the hat was placed on top of her head, she sent Harry a wavered grin. The tall boy, Justin Finch Fletchley - not that Tom had been paying crucial attention, waiting for the tall boy to be announced with eager ears - had already been sorted into Hufflepuff and left the other two, otherwise Tom was sure the girl would've sent one in his direction as well. The thought had him rolling his eyes in annoyance, quickly dismissing that feeling deep in his gut once more.

He watched her keenly as she frowned at whatever the hat was telling her and it made him too wonder what the wretched hat was whispering into her skull. It was quite rare for the hat to take as long as it was with Hermione and he couldn't help but let his eyes narrow on her form. What could possibly be stored up in her mind?

It felt like she was on the stage forever until finally the hat's voice echoed across the Great Hall. "Gryffindor!"

His shoulders sagged in defeat, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. A Gryffindor? Another reason to despise the girl, adding it to his rapidly growing list centered solely on her.

Through the corner of his eyes, he trailed her movements as she made her way towards the Gryffindor table. The students downed in maroon and gold were obnoxiously boisterous (no surprise there) as they welcomed her, putting their hands on her shoulders as she passed by, offering her accepting smiles and grins that were nowhere near as bright as hers. His wandering gaze hardened when one of the Weasley twins pulled her onto the bench beside him, and he could see the blasted redhead offering his introduction with more excitement than necessary. Upon watching her discomfort trickle across her face, polite yet subtle enough that there was no missing it, he grinned into his hand. So the girl had _some_ common sense, thank Merlin. He had began to seriously question her mental abilities as soon as she had been sorted. Those Gryffindors were some of the dumbest, _inane_ -

"Harry Potter!"

Almost as if a switch had been flicked, his eyes shot towards the back of Harry's head as he began to step forward. The unease within him grew substantially and yet, he gave nothing away as he stared his brother down.

It was all about Harry. All of their preparation was for _this_.

He could see the frazzled edge in Harry's emerald gaze as he eyed the sorting hat with apprehension. He knew that Harry understood the importance of the moment, that their entire Hogwarts future was riding on that fucking hat. All it took was one word, one measly house announcement that would separate them. The problem in all of this was that Tom knew his brother all too well. That ever growing sense of hesitation wasn't unlogical to have on his part. It was completely justifiable.

It was a waiting game now as Professor McGonagall placed the tattered hat on Harry's head of messy black locks. Almost instantly, Harry scrunched his eyes shut - off from the world and away from view of the hundreds of awaiting gazes.

Tom blinked, slowly, as the corners of the hat's mouth twitched, the dark hole representing its mouth opening.

But he knew the word before it left the object's mouth. He had been dreading them all summer long.

"Gryffindor!"

When Harry's eyes snapped open, they locked straight onto his own.

From across the room, that blinding smile was on Hermione's face again and the Gryffindor's were cheering even louder - louder than Tom had ever heard before, almost ear shattering.

Underneath the table, Tom's hand clenched tightly into his palm until he felt his skin split in small, crescent indentions.

 **OOOOOO**

 **I promise the next update will be much quicker this time!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Oh my goodness! So I had uploaded this chapter last night and had found spelling mistakes afterwards so I went to revise the chapter real quick but then I re-uploaded the wrong file! My apologies and thank you to the guest review who spotted that!**

 **Here's the real chapter (again)!**

Chapter 10:

Tom was annoyed.

No, that's was a lie. He had passed the stage of annoyance days ago and now he was pissed. Which, really wasn't anything new, all things considered, it was just that his _feelings_ were being focused on someone they hadn't ever been directed to before. His _brother_. At the beginning he figured Harry was simply too... _consumed_ in the activity within Hogwarts - between school work, studying, and his _friends_ \- but as the days continued to drift by, Tom couldn't help but feel that he was being ignored. In fact, he knew that was _exactly_ what Harry was doing. His brother played it off, well enough, he supposed. When they passed each other in the halls or made eye contact across the dining hall, they would share a grin or a silent nod but that was _it_. Not once had Harry come up to him. Not once had Harry asked him to meet in the library or the courtyards. Not once had Harry uttered a single word to him in eight days.

The time for apologising had arrived and passed long ago.

His newly Gryffindor-sorted-brother had no quals about talking with the other students or walking with _them_ in the corridors or spending every moment with _them_ during the days. If Tom hadn't known any better, he would've been willing to bet that Harry was doing it on purpose, his goal actually being to truly piss him off as if he were trying to rub it in his face that he had _friends_ while he...well, didn't. Not that he gave a damn. He didn't need something as fickle as friends or the relationship the titles entailed. The concept itself was entirely screwed and he would never, _ever_ , rely on anyone but himself. That was something he had accepted long ago.

Was that was Harry was trying to prove? His brother always had had a strange and downright repulsive concern for the well beings of others. Perhaps Harry really was up for a bit of competition now that they were in separate houses. Perhaps with his newfound 'bravery' that seemed to fill all of the Gryffindors with illusioned sensibility, Harry truly thought that he could stand _against_ him.

 _As if he stood a chance._

He exhaled slowly, shaking his head at the ridiculous nonsense that had began to fill his head. Harry was just as cowardly as any of the lower Slytherins. His self prevalence was stronger than anything else, just as Tom had taught him. There was no other option besides Harry being scared to face him. Harry must have sincerely believed that since he had been sorted with the other lions Tom was going to disown him and leave him to fend on his own; like a lone wolf abandoned to lick its own wounds. Tom was disappointed, yes, but was Harry seriously going this _far_ because of a stupid sorting?

Tom stabbed his fork into the chicken on his plate. He had had enough. He had grown tired of these fucking little games. There were plans that had been made, plans that needed to be kept to and followed through or else their dreams of power and authority and dominance would be washed down the drains like so many before them. Tom, however, wouldn't allow them to be another lost cause. He knew he had the potential to bend the will of the Wizarding World at his command but the problem was that he had no choice but to wait. It would take years, if not decades, for him to possess the sheer talent and support to become the one in charge. Being from the Muggle world was already a setback. Unlike those around him, he wasn't born into centuries of magical lineage. He wasn't born with a name of _meaning_. They saw him as nothing because he was nothing. He was nothing more than another faceless, unimportant Muggleborn; a filthy, disgusting **Mudblood** that didn't deserve the magic that flowed through his veins.

Well, not everyone saw him as that. There were those...select few in Slytherin that actually didn't mind to be caught talking to him, if a few words a day were considered 'talking'. He supposed it was partially due to him avoiding everyone at all costs. He just really couldn't stand listening to others drone on about their personal lives or hold conversational matters that held no importance and threatened to dull his senses. Honestly, the _audacity_ of some of these students and their parents to question the worth of _his_ magic yet couldn't even perform a simple Arithmancy problem or a spell of a third year. How could they doubt his magic when their own was so much weaker than his even when they proclaimed their purity dating to the very first generations? It was a giant pile of troll bullshite.

Tom brought his head up and focused on the faces of his housemates talking in front of him. The three had joined Slytherin the same year as him and if he were to consider any of these people...acquaintances...then Warrington, Montague, and Bletchley were it. All three of them were half bloods and that was probably the only reason they ever looked in his direction but he found them... _tolerable_ enough.

Warrington had been the first person Tom had extended his presence to but that was only after being paired off with him in numerous of their classes during their first year and discovering that the boy did have some magical talent especially in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Warrington's father had come from a pureblood background and was rumored to be quite wealthy compared to the other common folk of the Wizarding World. One of the things that had peaked Tom's interest from the very beginning was listening as Warrington discussed the numerous book titles that his private library at home had while the library hadn't. Most of them were considered banned books and had apparently been due their Dark Arts nature. The thought of getting his hands on them was something Tom couldn't pass up.

From that, he supposed their 'group' had formed when Montague and Bletchley had become close with Warrington. Montague was quite brutish in size and manner but he never acted out enough to get on Tom's nerves and the other - Bletchley - he was docile unless provoked. Tom had seen, first hand, the uncontrollable temper Bletchley had when he was bullied or ordered around by the purebloods. He was quite good with sneaking hexes in when no one was looking and Tom would hardly overlook his skills.

He let his eyes drift from Warrington's face as a movement over his housemate's shoulder stole his attention. Tom, however, knew exactly what and _who_ it was.

Tom had always made sit in this spot because it gave him the perfect view. In his line of sight he had the hall doors to his right, the Professor's table to his left, and straight in front of him - usually positioned directly over Warrington's shoulder - was Harry.

The corner of his lips twitched as he took in the scene before him, one that he had been accustomed to since the very night Harry was sorted into the house opposite of his own.

Harry was with the girl again. _Hermione_. They always sat side by side during meals, laughing and _touching_ each other as if they had known each other for years. Tom had seen them countless of times in the library together either working on their homework or watching as Hermione practically shoved Harry's face into a book. The later had been quite amusing to witness considering the words 'Harry and 'reading' rarely ever went together. He had heard through the telltale lines of gossip from the other Slytherins that she was supposed to be intelligent. It had barely been the second day of term when he had overheard Draco Malfoy going on and on about how the girl had known every question the Professors asked, and had apparently gone so overboard that the DADA professor, Professor Snape, had called her an Insufferable-Know-It-All by the fourth day of classes. Snape may have disliked nearly the entire school population, but it was so...rare for someone to have ruffled him up and especially at a time so soon as she had. But it wasn't _only_ Snape that reacted to her. Tom had seen with his own eyes as Madam Pince had beamed at the girl, jumping to help whenever she could; he had watched when Professor McGonagall stopped Hermione in the hall and complimented her on her essay with a look of admiration that he had never seen on the old bat's face before. There were even rumors that Hermione had earned over a hundred house points in the first week alone. From the scoreboards now, Gryffindor and Slytherin were neck and neck but begrudgingly, Gryffindor was up by thirty points.

The girl was just something he had never experienced before. She was...unique. He had never seen or heard her once hesitate to let the world know that she was, indeed, a Muggleborn. That being said, for Malfoy to even waste his breath on her...Tom knew she had value, and from the looks of it, Harry did too.

* * *

It hadn't taken him long at all to figure out their schedules. After Potions, both Harry and Hermione would eat lunch together before they journeyed up to the Gryffindor Tower and from there, he didn't know what the two did exactly but within ten minutes, Hermione would be on her way to the library to work on her homework or simply read and would remain there until Harry met with her just after the hour hand passed three. It was simple clockwork. And more importantly, it was all Tom needed.

He knew where to find her once he pushed past the library doors. She was always nestled up at the table in the corner, the one that offered a clear view of the lake and the Forbidden Forest just outside of the school's perimeters. She was so immersed in her studies that she didn't feel his presence until he was right there, hovering over her form and only a hair's width away.

As he opened his mouth to speak, he snapped it shut immediately. What was he supposed to say? Should he just tap her on the shoulder? He grit his jaw in aggravation. If she had accepted _Harry_ so quickly, she would do the same for him.

"Excuse me?" he broke the silence.

Hermione jolted in her chair and spun around frantically. When her big brown eyes locked onto his own gaze, he saw her surprise pass through like an electric shock before those same honey iris' hardened.

 _How those eyes could be so cruel_.

" _Yes_?" she asked. Her tone was sharp; slicing and cutting across his skin like a warm welcoming. He grinned down at her.

"You don't happen to know where Harry is, do you?"

She pursed her lips as if she was uncomfortable and shot a look towards Madam Pince's desk as if looking for help. He pretended he hadn't seen it.

He watched as her porcelain teeth dug into her bottom lip. The motion was mesmerizing.

"At the moment no," she began uncomfortably as if she wished she were talking to anyone else _but_ him. "He should be arriving here at any moment...if you need to speak to him."

"Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt if I wait for him here then," he replied and before she could protest, he plopped himself down in the chair across from her. "Would it?"

He could see her displeasure illuminate her face as she eyed him from her chair. Merlin, if looks could kill…He his his smirk as he leaned forward. "I'm not sure if my _brother_ has informed you or not," he stretched his hand out towards her, "My name's Tom."

Hermione looked at his extended limb as if it were foreign. She's apprehensive, he can tell, but he could see the spark of curiosity behind those tantalizing eyes of hers. Her gaze snapped up to his own and stared. He could see the questions brewing within her mind and the sheer mistrust she had towards him.

He knew she had every reason to be wary of him. He didn't blame her.

However, it was his turn to be surprised as she slowly, so _excruciatingly_ slowly, nodded her head to herself as if in reassurement and extends her own hand out to him. "My name's Hermione."

But he already knew that too.

* * *

It had been so joyous to see that smug look on Harry's face wash off as he approached their table. Shock and suspicion were vibrant in those bright green eyes as he stood before them, his mouth slightly agape.

Tom sneered as Harry's gaze shot over to Hermione and frantically inspected her from head to toe as if he were expecting to find an injury. Tom's eyes narrowed in aggravation, as if he would harm the girl in the middle of the library in the _middle_ of the day. He should've been insulted that Harry even considered him to be that bloody stupid.

Not a single hair on her head had been touched by him.

"Tom...," Harry began, cautiously and calculating because he knew just how much of an _idiot_ he had been acting. Harry knew he was pissed. "What are you doing here?"

He leaned back into his chair and grinned, but his eyes portrayed a very different emotion. "Can't one enjoy a nice day in the library with such...appealing company?"

Harry's brows twitched before furrowing in concentration.

"Besides," he continued, "I was actually looking for you. Thankfully, Hermione was willing to keep me _occupied_."

His brother stepped forward. "Well I'm here now."

Tom grin stretched across his face. "So you are."

The tension between them was thick as they stared each other down, neither one wanting to give. Both of them knew how significant this moment was, how _dangerous_ it could become. There had only ever been a handful of heated moments between the two but when they did occur...tempers flew, all logical senses be damned.

Without turning to look at Hermione, Harry addressed her. "Neville needs help with his homework in the tower. I figured I'd extend the invitation to you."

The way the lie slipped through Harry's lips so effortless almost had him applauding. But not quite. They had more important matters to settle between them.

His anger peaked when Hermione immediately hopped up from her chair as if she had burned. She had picked up the obvious warnings in Harry's message and it was clear she wanted no part. _Smart girl._ She hastily scooped up the scattered belongings she had on the table but before she could pick up the last object - a small, leather bound journal - Tom reached out to grasp it in his own hand.

Her movements halted as she brought her questionable eyes up to him. Beside her, Harry took another step, his fingers twitching as if he were seconds away from ripping the book from his grip. There was a part of Tom that dared him to do it but there was a larger part that forced him silent. He was playing a game here. A game he intended to _win_.

Without missing a beat, he held it up to her and smiled; the kind of smile that she had given him days prior. The kind that made her lips part unconsciously.

 _Oh how he had her already._

Apprehensively, she took it from him and shot one last fleeting look towards Harry before she turned away, her chestnut curls flying behind her.

"It was wonderful meeting you, Hermione," he called after her, causing her to turn and nod her head stiffly but not stopping her hasty departure. "I hope we can do it again, _soon_."

The word seemed to hang between him and Harry as the seconds ticked by. Not once did Tom look at him as he waited to hear the door of the library open and close, signaling that Hermione had truly left. It was like a switch the very second those large doors closed as Tom's eyes snapped to Harry; watching and waiting.

His brother had no problem meeting his stare. _How disgustingly Gryffindor of him._

Harry crossed his arms. "What are you playing at Tom? Why were you-"

" _Sit_ down," Tom snapped, kicking out his foot to push the chair out. The one Hermione had just been in.

Harry followed his instructions without hesitation. "Tom-"

"You've been ignoring me, Harry," Tom drawled out. "I don't like being ignored, especially by someone as yourself. _You_ of all people know that."

His brother sighed in defeat. "I know, I know," he began tiredly but then straightened up and sent a glare his way. "It's not like I wanted to. It's your fault, you know. I knew you'd be mad at me because I wasn't sorted into Slytherin."

Tom rolled his eyes and reclined his back into the chair. "Don't be stupid, Harry," he sneered. "You already knew I had doubts of your sorting. You knew I was fine with whatever house you joined-."

"How was I supposed to know you hadn't been bluffing?"

"But if you want _my_ honesty," Tom continued as if Harry hadn't spoken, "I want yours as well. All of your little _friends_...I'm not a fool, Harry."

Harry scoffed in disbelief. "What? You think I'm rubbing them in your face?" he leaned forward and frowned. "Do you truly believe that is my intention? I talk to them because I happen to enjoy their company. You would know how I feel if you would allow yourself to get to know your other housemates too!"

Tom shook his head and turned away. "As if I would want any of those half-brained-"

"That's what I'm talking about, Tom," Harry hissed in aggravation. "You give no one a chance. Do you want to know what I've quickly realized while being here?"

Tom eyed him impatiently, silently telling him to go on.

"By ourselves we're _nothing_ ," Harry softly began. "You've said so yourself that the Wizarding World is all about reputation. We have to build ourselves up here first, we have to get those connections. One can only go so far even if you were to make the best grades in all of Hogwart's history." Tom was quick to glare at him but at his look, Harry held up his hands and continued, "Even in the normal world, it takes an army to change the world, Tom. What makes you think it'll be so different here?"

On the tabletop, Tom's fingers curled into his fists as he thought over Harry's words. His brother was right. How had he been so ignorant to think that he could truly rule the world without the aid of others? Had he really believed he could storm up to the Ministry and profess his beliefs without being rejected? But if he were to have the support of hundreds... _thousands_...they wouldn't be able to turn him away so easily. With those followers, his power would be unlimited. He would have those loyal to his cause, those willing to die for _his_ ideals. He could see it now.

It was a bitter pill to swallow to know that he had taken the wrong approach after all these years. Three years wasted. He needed to think this over.

 _...it takes an army to change the world…_

But more importantly, it took a leader to _**rule**_ one.

He sharply looked back at Harry and tilted his head to the side. "I suppose your argument does have clause," he faintly replied. It was perhaps the first time he had ever admitted he had been wrong. He pointedly ignored the victorious grin that spread across Harry's face.

Feeling more bold than he ought to, Harry pressed on. "Are you angry at my house sorting?" he blurted out.

The question almost had Tom banging his head onto the table. If Harry wanted his honesty, then it's what his brother would get. "Yes," he answered truthfully. It's all he could say. It's not like he would waste anymore energy dancing around the matter. The Sorting Hat had already made it's decision.

"Do you despise me because of it?"

Tom eyed him carefully. He would never despise Harry because of a stupid sorting, the thought was completely ridiculous. Truly. But...there would always be disappointment. Harry had so much more potential than to join the ranks of those feckless lions that were too dumb for their own good. He would _never_ live up to his full capability by being surrounded by those witless Gryffindors. However, Harry didn't need to know that.

"Never." It was the only reply he could think of on the spot. It wasn't necessarily the whole truth, but it wasn't entirely a lie. And it played its part well as Harry relaxed at his words.

He darted a look at his watch and bit the inside of his cheek. Warrington and the others would be in the common room at this hour. Like Harry and Hermione, the three Slytherins were quite retentive with how they spent their time and by now, Tom could name their whereabouts by the minute. They would be there until it was time for dinner. Normally, he wouldn't give a damn what they were doing but if he were to start _somewhere_ , then the three of them were perfect. He would have to start small one way or another.

He pushed himself up out of the chair. "As rejuvenating as this little... _discussion_ has been, I'm afraid I'll have to be leaving."

"Where to?" Harry raised a brow.

Tom grinned as he turned towards the door. "If I tell you, it wouldn't be a secret anymore, would it?" He made it several steps until Harry's voice rang out once more, quiet and more sincere than Tom had ever heard before.

"Tom... leave her alone."

Tom froze mid stride.

" _Please_."

He turned his head to look over his shoulder at his brother and saw the naked plea for what it was. However, he left without another word.

* * *

Despite Harry's warning, Tom found himself quickly becoming obsessed with Hermione. The more he watched her, the more he found himself...captivated. There was just something about her that made her different than the others. The way she held herself in the halls, the way she smiled and talked so animatedly with her friends, how she immersed herself in her studies...the way she _cared_ so eagerly. More times than not, he was watching her, even when he told himself that it was Harry he was truly looking out for.

He had approached one of the first year girls to get more information about her. It was quite an embarrassing move on his part, but he really had no way of knowing what happened _inside_ of the classroom. And it probably benefited him that the girl he had approached was one of the one's he knew fancied him. She had preened under any attention he had given her and once she started talking, she didn't shut up until he had placed a Confundus Charm on her.

Tom knew now that she sat with Harry in DADA and Potions, stood by a boy named Neville Longbottom in Herbology, hated flying (and sucked quite badly at it too), and had apparently had quite the number of rows with the youngest male Weasley. She was incredibly smart, which he had known for a while now, and she was incredibly favored by numerous professors. Even the old crone, Slughorn, had started discussing her during the third years Potions lessons. To have someone like her on his side...she would be perfect.

He walked up to the library with a renewed spring in his step, nodding his head subtly towards those he passed. It was the best he was willing to do. He was, after all, still testing these waters out.

When he walked up to her table, he didn't hesitate to sit himself down like he had done the day before. She was working on an essay but the very second he sat down across from him, her head popped up, eyes widening in recognizing.

"What are you doing here?"

He grinned, but didn't stop to look up as he unpacked his supplies. "Harry didn't mention that I would be meeting with the two of you from now on?" he asked with a tilt of his head. "How silly of him...must've slipped his mind."

Her gaze turned warily. "It doesn't seem like something like this would slip his mind so easily," she pointed out. "Especially with...all things considered."

His dark gaze flickered up towards her. "Care to elaborate?" The corner of his mouth curved upwards as he took in her features. Up close, he could see why people warmed up to her as quickly as they had. She was quite... _pleasing_ to look at. Her nutmeg curls framed her face delicately, giving her the overall warmth that seemed to bleed from her gaze, and skin that looked smooth to the touch. He had never envisioned himself admiring the looks of a girl this early, but now that she was _close_...he hardly had a choice. He supposed though, that he didn't mind.

In fact, he didn't mind at all.

He watched as she propped her head up with her hand. "Well, for one-," she narrowed her eyes, "-you and Harry haven't exchanged a word since our sorting."

"We talked yesterday afternoon," came his smooth response.

She shoot her head quickly, dismissing his comment. "And more _importantly,"_ she emphasized with raised brows, "Harry informed me that you aren't particularly eager to surround yourself with people like him and I."

"People like you and him?" he repeated. His dark brow quirked at her words.

" _Gryffindors_ ," she clarified with a glare. He could feel her aggravation spiking and he had to smother the smirk that threatened to show. "He said you _hated_ us. You couldn't even stand to talk to him for days, let alone _look_ in his direction."

He crossed his arms over his chest and shot her a condescending look as he leaned back into his chair. "I've heard you're supposed to be intelligent, Hermione." Her name rolled off of his tongue like water.

A scoff escaped her lips. "What, may I ask, does that have to do with anything?"

With a grin, he noted that she hadn't declined his previous statement. _Good_ , he thought to himself, _a girl with pride._

"I'm at the top of my class," he watched as she perked up in interest. "Do I really look like someone who would waste such... _negative_ energy on people just because of their house sorting? Hermione-," he shook his head slowly, "-you wound me."

She pursed her lips. "Well, I know nothing about you. You can't blame me for not knowing what it is you do or do _not_ do."

He grinned, inclining his head towards her. "I suppose you're right…" he eyed her slyly, "but then again, I suppose all friends have to start as strangers at one point in time."

Her eyes were burning into his face. "Friends?" she repeated. He could hear her skeptical tone but he ignored it. Instead, he nodded his head briefly before turning his attention onto his work.

He could practically hear the wheels within her head spinning miles per second as she eyed his figure, as if waiting for him to bite. But then, her curious gaze darted onto her essay in front of her as she picked up her quill. As her attention was diverted, he peeked the title of her work, which was already halfway done. He remembered the assignment well.

"Try _The Tome for Spectral Forged_ by _Grimoire Nethersong,"_ he gently whispered and watched as her brown orbitals darted up to him.

This time it was she that raised a questioning brow. "What?" she asked in confusion.

He nodded toward her essay. "There's a section in the book that has information on your topic," he clarified, but nonetheless, turned back into his own studies. "I believe you will find it quite helpful."

He could feel her gaze on him as the seconds ticked by. It burned his face. He fought the urge to bristle underneath her undiverted attention as her gaze seemed to peel him apart, layer by layer.

Suddenly he picked his head up and stared straight into her lingering eyes. She froze beneath his gaze as if he had threw a Petrificus Totalus at her. He watched in delight as her cheeks flared vermillion but before she could utter a single word, he smiled and looked back down at the book in his hands.

His teeth bit into the inside of his cheek. The blush that had burned her cheeks had burned him in more ways than expected.

After several long minutes, Hermione pulled out her wand and accio'd the tome he suggested. This time, he didn't care if she saw his smirk. It was on full display.

* * *

The air between them had turned comfortable, as the sounds of both Hermione's quill and the pages of his book being flipped, created a comfortable silence that neither found awkward or forced. He quite enjoyed it, in all honesty, and absentmindedly, he figured she did too since she had yet to relocate.

It had all been going great until their bliss was shattered as Harry's frantic footsteps rushed up to their table. Tom's eyes were on him immediately.

" _Tom_ ," Harry's voice sounded awfully... _threatening_. "What are you-"

"I arrived at three, just like you said, Harry" he forced a grin of nonchalance onto his face, one that made his cheeks ache. He was staring at his brother with a warning expression that he knew Harry would recognize. From the corner of his eyes, he watched as Hermione glanced between them.

Harry's lips thinned into a straight line. Tom could see the emerald flames licking against his brother's iris'. "You said-"

"Hermione and I have already began our homework, Harry," Tom didn't give him any room to refute. "You know Madam Pince doesn't tolerate students talking for too long," his eyes narrowed. "Besides, I suggest you get started with your studies as well. Merlin forbid you turn into a brainless troll like that _Weasley_ oaf in your year."

As he had expected, Hermione let out a string of laughter at his insult. His homework had paid off. He turned towards her and shared an amused grin. It may not have been that radiating smile that she had given him that first day but it was _something_ at least.

"Don't waste you time, Harry," he advised with a pointed look and without another word, he turned back into his book. Hermione continued with her scribblings.

With more hesitation than Tom had ever seen, Harry slowly descended into his chair. Tom could feel the suspicious stare throwing daggers into his pale flesh.

 _Oh, how the tables had turned._

And the games were only beginning.

 **00000**

 **Ending Note:**

 **So, I know I said I would be updating Dragon hearts before any of my other stories, but it still isn't completley ready and it still needs some major revising in its earlier chapters. I'm fairly certain that I will not update it until my Winter Break from University so that'll be like another month. In the meantime, however, I want to get as much of this story cranked out as possible. Fingers crossed that I'll be able to make weekly updates but then again finals are coming up so I might be dying of overwhelming stress within the next few weeks.**

 **Until next time!**


	11. Chapter 11

**I figured you guys would want another update. Hope I'm not mistaken :)**

Chapter 11:

"I heard that Snape made some first year Gryffindor cry," Warrington said with a pleased smirk. "Nott wouldn't shut up about how Snape bullied the Gryffindor so badly over a spell he did incorrectly, that the kid nearly fainted in the middle of the class."

Bletchley and Montague snickered in amusement, darting a grin towards him as if they expected to find a humorous reaction to the news. He merely raised his brows as if in disbelief, trying to look interested in their discussion when in actuality, he had heard all about this the day before. Hermione had been more than eager to inform him of what had happened.

" _I mean, he just wouldn't let off," she had fumed. "He could clearly tell that Neville was beyond humiliated and it didn't help that all of your housemates were exploding with laughter."_

 _Tom grinned. "Well, it's not like Longbottom makes it hard-"_

 _She had stopped him effectively with a playful swat to his arm, causing Harry to snort mirthfully at the motion. "Neville," she corrected him, "has only ever performed a handful of spells incorrectly. No matter what he does, Professor Snape is always so eager to jump down his throat! It's as if lives for Neville's torment."_

" _More like Neville lives to purposefully agitate Snape," Harry mumbled, making sure to not make eye contact with Hermione as she sent a glare in his direction._

 _Instead, Harry turned to look up at him and the two shared a quick smile._

 _He held up his hands in surrender when Hermione crossed her arms across her chest, her mouth already setting itself in that sinful pout of hers. "Professor Snape is a git to everyone, Hermione," he pointed out, although he knew she already knew that. "He's just a miserable man who takes satisfaction in giving his students hell because that's the only excitement he finds in life. Perhaps he just wants everyone to feel sorry for him."_

 _Harry raised his brows. "Us? Feel sorry for Snape?" he echoed in disbelief. "Yeah...not a chance."_

 _Tom watched as Hermione nodded her head in agreement. "He's vile on purpose," she frowned. "He deserves no sympathy. If he truly were miserable, it only shows what kind of character he is if he bullies others."_

 _The corner of his mouth twitched as the venomous words spilled from her mouth. His gaze darted onto the table they were at and he used his thumb nail to scratch at its surface. It was like peeling away each layer just as he was doing with Hermione. She wasn't the innocent little flower they all thought she was. She was just as deviant as he was._

 _The thought sent a rush through his body._

 _His gaze swallowed her whole. "I couldn't have said it any better myself."_

He brought his attention up from the table as he reminisced the day before, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

"I mean, Longbottom is supposed to be a Pureblood," Warrington sneered. "You'd think he'd at least attempt to try his best. He can't possibly be that daft, could he?"

The smile vanished from Tom's face. His gaze flashed. "It just goes to show how fucked up those Pureblood beliefs are," he nearly spat out. "They're so quick to dispute our abilities when their own kind can't even perform a Leviosa. There's something wrong with _all_ of them."

The three Slytherins surrounding him nodded their heads.

"I'm the top of our class," he continued in a bored drawl, too aggravated to actually find the energy to boast. It's not like he needed to either. It wasn't a secret amongst the students within his year. "For the second years it's that Ravenclaw halfblood, Edgecombe, and there's no doubt that Granger is the student for the first years." At the mention of her name, he watched them carefully with hawk-like eyes that scoped for the subtlest tick. He fingered the edge of his wand, waiting for them to show their displeasure. But luckily for them, they only seemed to be further agreeing to his words.

They, like him, had come to realize the truth the moment they arrived at Hogwarts. The facts were so obviously out there and at this point, no one could deny them. Purebloods were not the superior bloodline as everyone thought they were. They were nothing more than a dying breed; helminths of the Wizarding World that thought they were _entitled_.

Bletchley sighed, leaning forward to place his elbows on the table. "If only the Purebloods realized it. Imagine how better we'd all…" Tom's attention drifted as he caught a flash of movement walking briskly past the archways. The haze of brown curls flying was all he needed to see.

His hands were pushing himself up before he could comprehend what he was doing, his eyes never leaving her as his feet moved on their own accord. His breathing halted as she reached up towards her face and swiped at her eyes but when she did, it was then that he saw it. Her eyes were red and sliding down the pale skin of her cheeks, were glistening streaks of tears.

His vision blurred. A cold fury wracked through his body knowing that someone had caused those tears. His feet moved faster, until suddenly he was right there, storming up to her and the other two at her side. He forced them to halt by blocking her way, stopping so abruptly in front of them that she collided into his chest.

"What happened?" he seethed. His tone was hard and demanding, shocking even himself as he registered the pure possession that coursed through his very being. Those tears had shattered him, robbed him of his very breath, and demanded he do something about it. Someone needed to pay for what they had done.

Yet, as he looked down at her, he was met with silence. Her watery gaze was set firmly on the wall beside them, refusing to meet his own.

His burning gaze snapped to Harry but moved quickly as his brother's attention thoroughly avoided his. It left him only one other option. He didn't need to say a single word as he rounded on Longbottom until the boy began spluttering like Tom knew he would.

"M-Malfoy called her…" Longbottom's worried stare shot between Hermione and Tom frantically, looking more apprehensive than Tom had ever seen before. "He said she was...He called her a M-M...- not a nice name for a Muggleborn."

Tom's brows rose high on his forehead, his gaze widening as he turned back towards Hermione. Harry too was watching her closely. "Malfoy called her a Mudblood," Harry whispered, briefly meeting his eyes before darting them back onto Hermione.

The air surrounding them stilled with the thickness of Malfoy's offense and Tom immediately felt its aftereffects. The word was foul, much more insulting than anything else he knew, and for someone like _Malfoy_ \- nothing more than a waste of air - to have the audacity to address Hermione by that word…

His jaw was clenched hard. The blood beneath the thin layers of his skin was boiling and he felt his possessiveness claw at his chest, more damning than ever. He had never felt that way before, not towards anyone except her. The only familiarity was that day so long ago when he had saved Harry on his first day at Wool's, but _this_ , this was tenfold.

Harry's hand reached out and wrapped around Hermione's shoulder. " 'Mione…"

She shrugged out of his hold. "I don't want to talk about it, Harry."

"But you're upset-"

"I. Said. _No_ ," she grit out and without another word, she pushed past them.

Tom watched the back of her head as she darted between the crowds of students, a deep frown marking his face. He sighed heavily. He knew she was hurting, those open eyes of hers were enough for him to know that Malfoy had struck a core. She had already tried so hard to prove herself, to prove her worth, and all it took was Malfoy to ruin _everything_. At his sides, his fists clenched tightly. Malfoy would pay, that he would make sure of. It would be worse that what he had done to Flint, worse than he had ever done before, and he wouldn't feel the slightest slither of remorse. Malfoy deserved everything he had coming his way.

But first, he had another issue to take care of.

Tom stepped forward in the direction Hermione had vanished, however, his pace died just as it began as Harry sidestepped to block his way. Outraged, Tom narrowed his eyes as Harry shook his head. "I've been trying for the past ten minutes," Harry tried to explain, as if it were to actually mean something _important_. Tom could only sneer. "If I didn't have any luck then neither will you."

"What's your point?" he bit out. His nerves were all but frayed and splintered in every which way.

"My _point-_ ," Harry's tone softened, "-is that if she didn't open up to me, then there's no way she's going to talk to you. And...no offense, but you aren't exactly the consoling type."

That was it. Like a piece of string, Tom felt the last of his patience snap in half. He shoved Harry to the side with a hard push and wordlessly rushed past him. He didn't want to deal with the idiocy of his brother at the moment. He had a witch to find.

* * *

He had found her eventually, nestled in a nook on the third floor around a corner that was only used by vapid, snogging teenagers. It was still too early in the day for the lovebirds to flutter about, so it was a relief to find that it would be just the two of them. Not like it mattered. He would have had no qualms with sending stinging jinx their way.

He approached her slowly, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he thought hard. Harry had been right, as much as he hated to admit. When it came to offering sympathy, he wasn't the ideal person to offer his apologies. And more importantly, he would have never volunteered to throw himself on another person either. But this was Hermione, the only girl he had ever actually cared about. He had only known her for a small, handful of months, but the emotions were there; thick and strong. In those short months, she had gone from someone he despised to being the person he thought about the second he awoke. He wouldn't let her suffer alone, not with something like this, even if she screamed at him to leave.

He leaned against the wall that rested parallel to her and replicated her action of staring out the window. Snow had began to fall days prior but now the storm was getting thicker; a heavy blanket of white was all that could be seen for miles. Watching the snow flurry through the window was hypnotic as the minutes passed in silence between them. There was always something unspoken between the two of them that Tom always recognized. At first he had thought that it had been their intelligence that filled the void, but with each time he was with her, he doubted it less and less. It was almost as if they simply understood each other, as unbelievable as that seemed.

Finally, however, he broke the silence and turned his head towards her. "May I sit?" his voice was but that of a whisper but with the two of them, he knew she heard him crystal clear.

Rather shakily, she nodded and folded her arms tightly around her legs as she brought them up to her chest. He wasted no time occupying the space across from her. His back was smooth against the stone wall and instead of bringing his legs in like she had, he left them out, crossed at the ankles and flush against her. He was so close that he could feel her warmth seep into his clothes, tingaling against his skin as it juxtaposed against the frost covering the widow. He regarded her carefully, seeing the obvious sorrow still twisting around in her soul. She still had yet to look at him.

He, however, hadn't tore his gaze away once it had landed on her. "We don't have to speak, not unless you want to" he continued, watching her face as it twitched from her fighting to control her emotions. He supposed for someone like her - a girl who cared about every bloody being in this school, the sole person who forgave and sympathised toward everyone; foe or friend - what Malfoy had called her was a hard, devastating pill to swallow and accept. He felt for her, truly, but the more he dwelled on it, the more he could feel his rage peak to new and dangerous levels and he didn't want his anger to be unleashed until he was standing in front of the person who had caused her pain. He didn't want to take it out on her, anyone but _her_.

Tom waited patiently, something that he knew had it been other than her, he would have stormed off and not once had a pang of guilt for leaving them on their own. At first he had found it annoying as hell that he had developed an attachment to her, a mere first year that had started off being nothing more than his brother's unfortunate friend. She still boggled his mind from time to time, more often than not, but in a way, it's what he lived for. Those odd quirks of hers had him from the very first word they spoke because what he had soon realized, was that she, in a sense, was him. They were one in the same. They were driven by their hunger for intelligence, craved their self proval, but were condoned due to their blood status. They wanted _so_ much more in a world that offered them next to nothing

"Why did he call me it?" her voice was so soft that if he had not been focused on her breathing, he would not have heard. The voice he had come to cherish was so broken and beaten that he felt his temper flare. When he was done with Malfoy, it would be lucky if the boy would be able to take a _breath_ on his own ever again.

She finally, _finally_ turned to capture his gaze. A fresh stream of tears had managed to escape her eyelids and he could feel himself breaking apart as each droplet slid down her cheek. His feelings and emotions were doing horrible things to his insides, frightening him as if he were on the cusp of dying. "Why me and not...Harry?" she asked.

He didn't miss a beat, knowing the answer since the very beginning of the term, when Malfoy, heir to one of the wealthiest Pureblood families in the world, never stopped talking about her. The answer was simple, in a twisted and devastating way.

"Malfoy is intimidated by you." There was no doubt in his voice. He leaned forward, lessening the distance between them. He was so close that he could feel each of her breaths lightly fan against his skin, could count the scarse freckles that were barely visible against her skin. "Do you know why?" his baritone voice seemed to vibrate against the small space between them.

"He hates me."

It sounded more like a question to him.

He pressed on. "Why?"

She leveled a blank look with him as if she found his question the most idiotic thing she had ever heard before. "My blood."

"If that were truly the case, Malfoy would be screaming that _foul_ word at every muggle born in this school," he told her with a pointed look, one eyebrow raised as she stared at him because he knew that _she_ knew he was right. "There's something about _you_ that makes Malfoy tick." _Something that makes me tick._

Hermione eyed him skeptically. "So, what, there's something _wrong_ with me and not the others? Tom-" she took a deep, shattering breath, leaning away from him with tired expression but he was quick to follow.

He captured one of her hands and held on. "I'm serious, Hermione," he looked her dead on. The air around them turned momentous.

His fingers were against the pulse at her wrist, relishing in its steady beat as he continued. "You _are_ different than the rest. You go against every pureblood belief that's ever been spewed. You refute each and every one of those bigotry views and they can't stand you because of it. Malfoy wouldn't waste his breath on Harry because...because they don't see his potential yet. They just see him as a useless muggleborn." That thought was frustrating enough to dwell on so he quickly moved on. "But _you_ ," he emphasized with a nod, "you have bested them all and this is only your first year. Imagine what you'll be capable of by the time you graduate. That's what sets you apart."

She gazed at him unblinkingly for several long moments, her eyes boring into his as if reading his very soul. He had to fight the urge to bristle.

But, his words had done their magic.

Her body relaxed against the wall; those tearful honey iris' of hers brightening, subtly but enough for him to know he had succeeded in cheering her up even if only by a smidge.

He knew her words before they left her mouth. Her apprehension had him stiffening in defense as she locked onto him. "Has...anyone ever called you that name?"

"No." His jaw was set as the word escaped him because the sheer thought of anyone ever daring to call him by that name would be dead in a heartbeat. He had been ridiculed before, yes, but it had always been small things he could handle. Looking back onto his own first year seemed laughable as he recalled - in vivid recollection - of all the shite he had to go through but it was all child's play in the end. Words had only been words in the end, and he knew _now_ that fear of _actions and spells_ controlled much more. So damn much more.

"Is it because you're one of them - a slytherin? Is that why?" Her thirst for answers never failed. "You're smarter than me. You're loved by all of the professors including the heartless Severus Snape - I mean, that alone is telling enough," she said in disbelief.

 _All but one_ , he thought, but he didn't bother correcting her.

"Snape only tolerates me because he was a Slytherin," he grinned. "But I'm sure you're right about the behavior of the other Slytherins towards my blood status. I suppose they feel that without me, they wouldn't have a chance at being awarded the House Cup." However, he knew otherwise. He had heard of the whispers that had began to float around. He had seen those looks the others had given him, as if sizing him up to prepare themselves _just in case._ Many of them knew though, that the possibility of actually beating him up in a duel was next to none unless the challenge was coming from one of the seventh honor students and in reality, none of them would be caught dead risking to ruin their outstanding records. The world would absolutely _end_ if they didn't get that lackluster position to work in the Ministry. It was _that_ , that unsettled them because unlike the halfbloods and the purebloods, he had nothing to lose. He didn't have the connections like them nor the money nor the reputation. All he had was his talent.

She let out a noise that was a mix between a scoff and a laugh, bringing a smile of his own to grace his features. It was one of those rare moments that he chose to let his emotions show.

Just as fast as his smile had shown, however, he dropped it. This wasn't the time to get too at ease. He needed to for her to _see_.

"It's sickening, isn't it?" he stared at her, his eyes wide and dark.

Her brows furrowed.

"It's how all the purebloods are; it's how they all think," he tapped a finger against his temple. "They're disgusting, _all_ of them."

She swallowed thickly, diverting her gaze onto her lap. She was uncomfortable with the turn of conversation but she needed to understand. He _needed_ her to understand.

"Malfoy is the only one who's ever said anything to me-" his brows raised in disbelief and she caught his look with a grimace.

"Well, okay, so there's been more than one but it's not like they're all calling me that stupid word. They're just being typical jerks, that's all. One of the sweetest people I know is a pureblood," she raised her brows as if telling him to refute it.

He could have easily dashed her spirits by telling her Longbottom hardly counted as a real pureblood but the argument hardly seemed worth either of their time. But as much as he wanted to curse Longbottom's name through hell and back, he hid a pleasing grin when he realized he could use her argument to _his_ advantage.

"That's just it though, Hermione," he forced his face to go as soft as he could make it. "Just as you will always see him as a pureblood, he will see you as a muggleborn. No amount of... _niceties_ will change that. He will always see you as different than himself. Blood always comes first in this world."

He could see that she heard the truth in his words. She was too smart to argue otherwise.

She tilted her head to the side. "Is it really that...bad to be seen as different?"

"Of course not," he was quick to agree. "But it is, whenever no matter how much you prove yourself, they will never accept those differences. They will always have their doubts about you - and about me and Harry - because they see our difference as something inferior to themselves."

Hermione opened her mouth, ready to dissect his words, but he stopped her and with a sly grin he said, "Weren't you the girl who said us muggleborns have to stay together?"

Her mouth snapped shut.

His grin spread.

"You were right when you told Harry that," he assured her. "Truer words have never been spoken."

Silence stretched between them. Her mind was working in overdrive, analyzing and picking apart each word he had said, searching in desperation and panic to find the smallest flaw in his logic. She could chose any sentence he had said to her but she could find none, none that _she_ disagreed on. He watched her accept defeat with admirable grace.

His hand tightened around her own, her smooth flesh sliding against his. "Don't _ever_ waste your tears on them, Hermione," he commanded her. He had never demanded her of anything until that very moment but from the look on her face, she had no problem accepting it.

"One day they _will_ see your worth, even if you have to force it upon them. Do you understand? Do you see what I'm trying to tell you?"

She nodded her head, a newfound determination in her eyes. It may have been minuscule, a mere glimmer in those orbitals, but it was there nonetheless.

He sighed in relief. It had felt as if he had been holding a breath he hadn't known he was holding. His chest felt lighter, like the tension and stress was no more.

Their stare was broken when her gaze dropped down, and absentmindedly, he followed her line of sight without a second thought. With a jolt, he realized that her focus was on their intertwined hands still clutched together as if they were second skins to each other. He released her instantly and brought his hand to himself, awkwardly crossing his arms when no other idea popped into his head.

He had forgotten that he had still been holding onto her.

His face flushed; another first that he was adding onto his quickly expanding list when it came to her.

He turned his head to look out the window.

Outside, the snowstorm was worse than ever before.

* * *

When Tom passed him in the hall, Harry leaped up from the bench he was at. It had been nearly an hour since Tom had stormed after Hermione, and since then, Harry hadn't seen either return. At first he had figured that Tom had at least tried and failed, returning to the Slytherin's common room but then he had realized that in order to go to the dungeons, his brother would eventually have to pass him. There was no other way for Tom to go except through the hall he was currently standing in.

So he had waited, and waited, and waited, resorting to counting the cracks in the stone walls to sate his boredom. And then finally - finally! - he caught the sight of his brother walking down the hall. Harry noted immediately that he didn't look pissed, in fact, he looked almost…

"What happened? Where's Hermione?" Harry rushed up to Tom.

Tom raised an arrogant brow, not stopping his strides. "I'd reckon she was in the Gryffindor tower by now. You're supposed to be her best friend, so shouldn't you know?"

He exhaled heavily through his nose. Leave it to Tom to be in one of his moods.

Harry reached out and grabbed onto Tom's arm, successfully stopping him. "Tom. Is she okay? What happened?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "Of course she's okay," he ripped his arm from his hold. "She's better than what she was when she was with _you_."

"So she's okay?" He mentally took a breath of relief. The past hour had been utter hell for him, knowing that she had been hurt and all he had done was shoved Malfoy. He should have whipped out his wand and sent the nastiest hex he could have thought of.

Tom's dark gaze flashed. "I wouldn't know, would I? Since apparently I have no abilities when it comes to consoling others, right?"

Harry's head sagged back, groaning loudly. "You can't seriously hold that against me," he hissed. "You have never - never - consoled a person in your life."

"Oh really?" A smirk slithered across Tom's face. "Well, to prove you wrong, brother, go look at her yourself and tell me that she doesn't look... _consoled_."

His eyes widened, disbelief clear on his face. Tom had gotten her to talk? What, in the name of Godric?

"How did you do it?"

Tom shook his head. Like Harry, he had disbelief and amusement written all over.

"I have no blithering idea."

The two busted out into laughter.

* * *

Tom had let days pass before he had decided to act. He wanted Malfoy to think he had done nothing wrong, which the arrogant arse _did_ believe, but Tom wanted him to get comfortable. It would only add to the fun when he would confront the boy. And also, the more he thought about what he wanted to do to Malfoy, the more darker and the more sinister his brainstorming turned. He wanted to inflict as much pain as possible to make sure he would learn his lesson. He would have to act carefully too. Torturing someone, magically or not, left marks and evidence of what had happened and the last thing Tom needed to deal with was getting caught. He had no plans on getting expelled from school, not when things were going _so_ well.

Therefore, when a particular idea had popped up, the more he thought it over, the more he couldn't resist. He wasn't going to act alone and he happened to know three other Slytherins that would be just as eager to give a pureblood a piece of their mind. It would be a gutsy move, but it was a chance he was willing to take.

He had waited until most of the students had left the Great Hall after eating their lunches

before bringing the issue up. At the very mention of Malfoy being taught a lesson, all three of his housemates turned _giddy_. The simple thought of getting even with a pureblood - one of the worst ones that never failed to make it an hour without bragging to the world just how _superior_ he was - was too desirable for any of them to turn down. The only one that voiced any concern was Warrington.

"What makes you think Malfoy won't go running to one of the professors?" he asked, his eyes narrowing at the possibility. "He'll at least inform his _father_ ; he never shuts up about him."

Tom, however, knew differently. He shook his head, giving them all a deviant smirk. "He wouldn't dare breathe a word to anyone," he reassured them. "What would he say? A group of half bloods and a muggleborn got to him? Could you imagine Malfoy's embarrassment to even consider telling it to the world? He'd rather die."

"How can you be so sure though?" Warrington asked.

All three of the Slytherins had their curious gaze glued to Tom's face, all thinking the same as Warrington.

He fought the twitch of his mouth as it threatened to show. Flashes of what he had done to Flint were flashing through his skull, the sounds of bones breaking and a body falling from a staircase was all he could see and hear.

In all seriousness, he inclined his head subtly towards an older Slytherin several tables away. The three followed the motion.

"Flint?" Bletchley's brow was raised in confusion.

"Why do you think he stopped talking to me?" the question hung between all four of them. "You all saw how he treated me in our first year, the way he treated all of us with a lesser blood status. I had to put it to a stop."

Montague leaned forward, eyes wide in rapt attention. "How did you manage to convince him to leave us alone? Why would he ever listen to a word you told him? He'd rather curse you than give you the time of day."

"If there's anything I've learned-," Tom moved his gaze to land on each of them, "- it's that you can control people by fear much easier than asking them nicely."

The three of his housemates shared a look and after a pause, Warrington grinned. "I say we put it to the test then."

Tom brought his goblet up to his mouth, allowing the warm liquid to slide down his throat. His smile was hidden from their view.

* * *

Tom twirled his wand through his fingers as he stared down at Malfoy; Warrington, Montague, and Bletchley crowding in. They had only began to cast cruel hexes and curses mere minutes ago and yet, Malfoy was there trembling before them like the coward he was. He was a pathetic excuse of a wizard, the very words the blonde had sneered at anyone lesser than him. The sheer power Tom felt was overwhelming as it flowed through them, shooting from the tips of his fingers to the toes on his feet. It was _addictive_.

"I-I-I swear!" Malfoy held his hands up in surrender. "I won't do it ever again. I p-p-promise!"

Tom tsked, stepping forward with a faux look of sympathy on his face. "I'm confident that you _will_ keep that promise, but it doesn't matter what you do, Malfoy." His eyes flashed dangerously. "It's about what you've done."

He turned away and jutted his chin out towards Montague.

With a determined nod, the Slytherin stepped forward, wand clenched in his steady hand. Graham took a steady break before training it on Malfoy again.

Howls of anguish echoed against the abandoned classroom walls once more.

* * *

Harry and Hermione were sitting in front of the fireplace when Ron plopped himself down into the chair beside them. He had a chocolate frog in one hand and a truffle in the other, taking turns biting from one then the other.

Hermione shot him a look of disgust, silently turning her head away from the redhead as he nearly consumed his fingers that held his sweets.

"Did you hear that Malfoy's in the Infirmary?" Ron asked between bites.

Harry's brows rose in surprise but beside him, he heard Hermione hum, clearly disinterested as if she'd rather talk about anything else.

"What for?" he asked. He at least wanted to know what happened to the arsehole.

He caught Hermione's eye roll but ignored it as he waited for Ron to come up for air once again.

Ron shrugged. "Don't know. I heard Fred and George talking about it," he informed them. "They said he looked pretty rough...all pale and bleeding; some were saying he was poisoned too."

"Wow…" he frowned, darting a glance at Hermione but her gaze was set on the roaring fireplace. He looked back at Ron. "He seemed fine at dinner," he distinctly remembered Malfoy, Goyle, and Crabbe pointing and making fun of Filch as he went running down the rows of tables. "I wonder what happened to him. Is it only Malfoy that's in the Infirmary?"

Ron nodded his head.

"Well-," Hermione pursed her lips, "- if he were anyone else, and I do mean _anyone_ , I would say that's horrible to hear. But since it's Malfoy…"

"It's what the git deserves," he finished for her with a grin.

Hermione's head tilted back, a laugh escaping her throat. "Merlin bless whoever did it to him. He's had it coming since the first day of term."

Ron snorted.

 _That was the understatement of the year._


	12. Chapter 12

**As many of you can probably tell, the majority of this story will be in Tom's POV with some from Harry. However, as of the moment, I do not plan to have any from Hermione's but who knows, the** **opportunity** **may pop up eventually.**

Chapter 12:

Leaving Hogwarts was particularly hard that year. Not necessarily because leaving hadn't been difficult before, it was just that _this_ time they both knew what life was like in the other world and being shoved back into their hole of an orphanage was like having the life sucked right out of them. And it was safe to say that neither of them were looking toward those dreadful two months of 'vacation'. It seemed like the opposite, really.

Harry had immediately noted that Tom was...different this go around. Normally, it took days after his return that he fell back into the lackluster rhythm of their muggle lives but as the days turned into weeks, Tom was as sour as ever, as if he were a black cloud that screamed gloom and doom and engulfed anything got near. It was unnerving, Harry would admit, but he didn't dare bother Tom about it. It was simply how his brother was. He remembered a time when he had thought that it was rare to see actual emotion on Tom's face, but now he knew how wrong he had been all those years ago. Tom was one - if not the most - expressive person he knew. He didn't verbalize those said emotions but it was as if you could just _feel_ them. It was as if they were yours just as much as his.

Therefore, the longer his brother stayed in his brooding mood, the more it itched against Harry's own skin. Their conversations were kept at a minimum, meals were eaten in only a handful of sentences, and those eyes - dark blue orbitals that had turned black - were filled with such resentment towards their surroundings that Harry almost didn't want to approach Tom at all. It was a the warning sign the others read loud and clear.

He, however, acted like nothing was wrong. He tried to stay positive, tried to act like he couldn't tell Tom was seconds away from cursing anyone that so much as breathed in his direction, and managed to keep the younger children from simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was such an impossible load that at the end of each day, Harry would be welcoming his bed like a forgotten prayer and passing out the very second his head connected with his pillow.

But as a full month passed and Tom rejected the annual museum trip, Harry had decided that enough was enough.

With purposeful steps, he crossed the small space between their rooms and charged into Tom's bedroom. It was no surprise that his lights were off as he sat at his desk, scribbling away in his leather bound journal that he always kept close. It was quiet apart from the scratching of Tom's quill - which Harry thought was odd considering Tom always used a pencil when they were at the orphanage but he quickly decided to ignore that. Instead, he stepped further into the room and darted a quick glance at Nagini who was on full display perched on Tom's desk, basking in the grey rays that barely shown through the window. His gaze flickered onto the back of Tom's form and cleared his throat.

"What?" Tom asked, not bothering to turn around.

Harry sighed dejectedly. "Why don't you want to go to the museum? You normally jump up at the opportunity to leave."

Without turning, Tom shrugged. Next to his left arm, Nagini's head lifted up and darted her head from her owner to him, flicking out her tongue and licking the air as if she could taste his agitation.

"I've been there the past ten years of my life," Tom drawled out. "It's useless to go at this point. I'd much rather stay here."

Harry clenched his jaw. He wished he had the guts to throw his shoe at the back of Tom's head. "Well, I am calling your bluff."

Tom whirled around, his brows raised. A hissed escaped Nagini as she straightened up, those beady yellow eyes of hers glowing at the spike.

"A bluff?" Tom repeated. "And what, may I ask, am I bluffing? A fucking trip to a bloody useless museum? Don't you think that's a bit ridiculous?"

"Don't you think it's a bit ridiculous that you've locked yourself in your room for the past month and wallowed away?" Harry snapped back. "You've been off, Tom. Do you think I wouldn't notice it?"

Tom reached out and stroked down Nagini's back, the ripple of muscles resembling a small wave underneath her scales. Harry paid the pet no mind as it slithered up his brother's arm. "Have I?"

From Tom's tone, it was easy to pick up his sarcasm. It made him wonder if he should have approached Tom weeks ago.

With hesitation, Harry took a step forward. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked slowly. "This is obviously about leaving Hogwarts-"

Tom's gaze flashed. "Of course that's what's wrong. How could it not? Do you see where we are, Harry? Do you realize what this place is?"

Again with this? What did Tom expect, truly? Did he just not know what it felt like to be thrown back into this cage year after year like Tom had experienced for the past three years? Did it get harder each time? He frowned. "It's all we have, Tom." _Literally_. "Whether you like it or not, this is our home."

"Home?" Tom echoed in disbelief. Harry had to fight the flinch his body threatened to do as Tom's voice boomed. He had chosen the wrong words. "This place is **not** our home. This isn't where we belong and _you_ know that."

"You know what I meant," he mumbled. "We've known that since we discovered our magic. You've been fine _before_ but this time...what changed? What's different this time unlike before?"

A thick silence wafted over them as Tom stood from his chair. Tom's dark brows were pulled in slightly and Harry could see his gaze trail across the floorboards deep in thought. What he wouldn't give to have the ability to read his brother's thought's and to know just what is that had affected Tom so damn much. He stared hard at Tom, waiting and waiting and _waiting_ , for anything, _something,_ but Tom stood still and portrayed nothing. Harry's fists were clenched in anticipation.

Eventually, however, Tom shook himself and brought his dark gaze up. "It just is."

Harry sighed in defeat, shaking his head and opening his mouth ready to shout at Tom demanding he just spit it out already but Tom stopped him, turning around and striding to his bed before plopping down onto it and releasing Nagini from his hold.

Harry stared in silence as Nagini slithered around Tom's form and noticed, with a jolt, just how much she had grown in the past handful of months. Gone was the small, thin foot snake and in its place was a much thicker, much longer snake than before. Nagini appeared to be over three feet long now as she coiled around Tom's legs and around the soles of his shoes. Her sheer size made Harry wonder how in Godric's name had no one at Hogwarts or the Orphanage not seen her yet?

His thoughts were broken as Tom spoke up. "Harry, I'm fine, really," he said from his place reclined on the bed. He jutted his chin towards the door and continued, "You go and enjoy the museum. I'll be fine, I **promise**."

Every fiber in his being told Harry that Tom wasn't fine but his brother wasn't giving him the choice to stay behind. What had left Tom's mouth had been an order to leave and to forget any concern he had.

So, with nothing else to say or do, Harry nodded his head and turned, walking the way he had come through the door. Downstairs, he could hear Mrs. Cole shouting for the children to line up.

* * *

When the door closed behind Harry, Tom let his eyes close. He knew he shouldn't have turned his brother away but he was in no mood to deal with anyone - Harry included. There was a large part of himself that felt bad that he dismissed Harry the way that he had but did he have another choice? Harry had been prying, asking too many questions and making too many acquisitions that it prickled against Tom's skin. He knew Harry would've come eventually because there was no denying that there was something wrong. However, Harry had been incorrect when he said _something,_ singular, was wrong with him.

Everything was different, Tom had felt it the moment he had left King's Station and watched as everyone else went on their merry way with their families while he and Harry made a beeline for the bus that would take them to Wool's. Those snooty purebloods welcomed their sinister children with frozen smiles, giving them hugs that looked cold to the touch but enough to suffice as loving towards the public eye. It was all sickening to witness especially when he had turned and watched the other, non-pureblood children flutter up to their parents and envelop each other in a warmth that Tom had never experienced. His watchful gaze had been glued on Hermione as she dived through the crowd, twisting and turning around people until she embraced her own parents - a happy looking couple that he could trace the features each had passed onto Hermione. He had swallowed hard as she turned her back against _him_ , replacing _him_ and forgetting all about _him_ as her parents distracted her. Tom had been quick then, to push Harry and himself forward and away from the cruel reminder that they had no one to welcome them home.

Tom broke out of his revere with a heavy sigh and turned on his side to reach underneath his pillow, pulling out a book that he had turned into every single day. It was quite a decent sized novel but he didn't care if it bothered his sleep at night. Interestingly enough, he found it comforting instead. With idle fingers, he skimmed the engravings on the cover. It was one of the fancier additions, one that he would have never bothered to pretend he could afford even with the aid of the heavy bag of galleons that Hogwarts provided him with at the beginning of each term. If Harry had seen it, he would've accused him of stealing it, which in reality, wouldn't be a far fetched guess, but this was something that had been _given_ to him just before he had departed from school.

" _Don't you ever tire of reading that?" he had asked, propping his head up with his hand as he quirked a brow._

 _Big, brown eyes glanced up at him. She tilted her head to the side, chesnut curls billowing over her shoulder as she mimicked his actions. "Should I?" she answered with a sly smile. The hand that wasn't propping up her head was playing with the edges of the fine paper of her book. He watched her pale fingers as if they were hypnotic, before leaning forward._

" _Out of every book in this library and the infinite more you could read, why that one?"_

 _She shrugged his question away. "Why not?"_

" _Everyone hates that book. It's for children with nothing else to do."_

" _Well, I don't hate it," she quipped. "And it's not a children's book. You'd be surprised by what you'd find if you give it a chance."_

 _He hummed. "Is that what you do?" his gaze bore into hers. "You give everything a chance when no one else does?" He hadn't been talking about mere books anymore and from the way her brows dipped slightly, he thinks she knows he isn't either._

" _I guess so…" her reply was but a whisper._

 _He regarded her for what had seemed like forever, simply watching her as she sat across from him and met his own watchful eyes with her own. It's one of the things he...admired so much about her. She never backed down even when everyone else did._

 _She closed the book with an audible clap and a second later, she slid the book across the table to him. His curious stare flickered from the book up to her._

" _I want you to have it," she pressed the novel into his knuckles._

 _He looked down at the cover and felt heat rush up the back of his neck. It was expensive, he could tell. The words_ _ **Hogwarts: A History**_ _were in a cursive writing with flourishments decorating its covers and spine, and he could only imagine what the price tag was._

 _He swallowed thickly. No one had given him anything before and yet, here she was, giving him one of her most beloved objects. It was rare to see her without it. He had simply been teasing her before and this was the last thing he had ever expected for her to do in response._

" _This is your favorite," his fingers curled around its edges, getting ready to push it back. "I can't possibly-"_

" _I have another one," she cut him off. "Two others, actually."_

" _Why would you give this to me?"_

 _She smiled at him almost knowingly. "You'd be amazed at what happens when you give something a chance," she admitted. "Read it again."_

 _Hours later when he was in his dormitory room, he closed his curtains and cast a silencing charm before pulling the book out of its hiding place. He cracked the cover and ran his fingers along the handwriting, the name slipping from his lips like water._

 _He reckoned he liked the way it sounded._

Tom blinked back into reality, his fingers were still gently tracing the embellishments on the cover and with a flick of his wrist the book opened to the first page. Hidden in the corner, his eyes instantly traced the name that he had memorized - every dip and curve of her handwriting forever etched in his brain.

Hermione Granger

A small smile drifted onto his face.

Nagini slithered along the bed and darted her nostrils deep into the novel in his hands. She looked up at him, her yellow eyes flickering as she registered the smell mixing with his own.

He reached down and rubbed the top of her head affectionately. "You'll meet her one day," he hissed down at her. "I promise."

Nagini's tongue licked at his wrist before coiling around herself in content.

It was a promise he was sure to keep and one that he couldn't wait to fulfill.

* * *

Weeks later, however, Tom wasn't coping any better. Every morning he would stare at the calendar on his desk, willing for it to move by the sheer force of his glare alone. But, he wasn't so lucky. The days went by at such an excruciating pace that he felt as if someone had a timeturner with his name on it and rewound it hour by hour simply to enjoy seeing him rot of pure boredom.

Harry helped, a lot, in fact. He knew that if it weren't for his brother, he probably would have never been able to last now that he had the taste of what is was like to have others. There was a pile of letters that he kept beneath his bed and a pack of stationary that never left his desk since he forced himself to keep up with the charade. The letters he sent to his _friends_ \- nothing more than his selected housemates - were filled with faux sincerities that seemed hollow but more than enough to sait the neediness of maintaining those connections that Harry and the rest of the Wizarding World seemed to harp on about. But it wasn't as if he had jumped up to start writing back to the others. It had been a good month that he had let them pile upon themselves; from Warrington, from Montague, from Bletchley, another from Montague, two more from Warrington, an additional one from Bletchley that would've been drenched if it hadn't been for the repellent parchment he had used. Those letters had sat there for weeks, untouched and unopened, until he had walked into Harry's room one day and found his brother grinning like a fool at the numerous piles of papers around him.

In truth, it had come to him as a shock. He hadn't realized before how... _popular_ his brother was and from the opened trunk at the foot of Harry's bed, the letters had been arriving without decline since they left Hogwarts. The day he discovered his brothers letters, he had pretended to read through a useless novel as Harry took the time to reply to each and every single one of the letters he had received, and waited until the opportunity presented itself. He had nearly rejoiced when Harry excused himself to use the bathroom, and once Harry was gone from his line of sight, he jumped up and scrounged the opened letters like a maniac. He flipped through them with haste, not caring for their content, and eyed every name that appeared. Most of them were from the other Gryffindors; Longbottom, Finnegan, Jordan, Weasley, and -

He had frozen when he had read _her_ name, there in bold and legible handwriting that he recognized oh-so-welly. He felt his breath leave him harshly as his fingers traced along her penmanship. She had sent _Harry_ letters?

A blinding heat began to course through his body, radiating from the tips of his toes to the hairs on his head. It fueled through him like he was possessed, and without further thought, he began to flip rapidly through the remaining stacks all while keeping Hermione's clutched in his grasp. Tom had quickly learned that Hermione wrote Harry nearly on a weekly basis, telling him small nothings like books she was reading to big news such as the trip she had recently taken with her parents to France. Hermione's life was all there for _Harry_ to read.

He clenched his jaw tightly and bent down to grab all of the letters Hermione had sent, or at least, all the ones he could easily see and quickly gathered them into his awaiting hands.

He was gone before Harry had came back and it was apparent that his brother had never even noticed they were missing to begin with.

It was only _after_ then that he had began to send his replies. And whenever a new letter arrived, he made sure to open it with such vigor that Harry would hear.

After all, he had to make sure that Harry knew he wasn't the _only_ one with friends.

* * *

One morning he had been awaken by the sound of pecking against his window. He had flung himself out of bed in irritation, getting read to curse the bird to hell and back, but that disappeared the moment he laid eyes on the letter in the owl's beak. With wide eyes, he opened his window to retrieve the letter - nearly not noticing how it had actually been two envelopes and not just one - and stared wordlessly at his name on the front. He _knew_ that writing.

The letter addressed to Harry fluttered lifelessly to the floor as Tom ripped the envelope with eager fingers.

 _So, how's the reading going?_

He sat down and immediately began writing his response.

* * *

Tom had to admit that if Hermione never had given him the book, he would have never actually taken the time to read it. With term only a mere week away, he wanted to make sure he had at least thumbed the novel from front to back just in case she were to start asking questions. The last thing he wanted to appear, especially to her, was ungrateful.

The problem, however, was that he hadn't been lying when he told her that everyone hated the book. It could _literally_ put anyone to sleep without trying to. No one bloody cared about the history of the library, or the mysterious Great Lake, or the tales of the ancient halls. When he had first came across the book, he hadn't bothered to complete it. He had felt that it would have been a waste of his time and he hadn't managed to get past half of it, moving on to find something bigger and better to benefit himself.

But now, he really didn't have an excuse to _not_ read it. He had nothing but time and it wasn't like he could journey up to the library and pick out a tome to keep him busy for hours on end.

He flipped through the book with nothing particular in mind. He already knew the majority of what the first half contained so he made haste to skip it and moved on towards the back. He was able to read the beginning sentence on a page that he had never seen before, and had to fight the sigh of boredom that threatened to escape. Honestly, how could she read this as frequently as she did? It was a waste of paper, if he were being truthful.

Tom rapidly began to scan the words and pictures trying to find anything that would spike his interest. When he found nothing, he would quickly flip the page, then the next, then the next, and the next -

He stopped as he caught the familiar portrait of the founder of his house. _Salazar Slytherin_ , he read with a grimace. The Wizarding World's finest pureblood _arsehole_ to ever exist and yet, there he was, forever _immortalized_ in a book read by young, magical minds. There was nothing exceptional about the man; an ugly sneer on his twisted face that Tom knew was directed at him. The man was nothing more than a fool with his bullshite blood bigotry and Tom didn't hesitate letting the animated picture know so. It would never hear him but it did make Tom grin in satisfaction as if Slytherin had.

He moved his hand to turn the page when he paused as he noticed the large snake resting Slytherin's shoulder. It was much larger than Nagini, and from the looks of how it coiled around itself, it was at least twice the size of Slytherin. Absentmindedly, he glanced at Nagini and wondered if he could ever get her to be that size.

He allowed his curiosity get the better of himself, and began to skim the words associated with the cruel man. Like he knew, there were several paragraphs that described Slytherin's pureblood beliefs but as he went on, he came across a word that made his brows furrow.

 _Parseltongue._

 **Sorry for the small delay, it was Thanksgiving after all. Hope you all had a great holiday!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Phew! Finals are over *finally* and now I can go back to updating this! These past two weeks I didn't have enough time to sit down and write fully, but I was able to finish adding onto the story plot of this and let me just say that I am so excited for this. However, with that being said, this story will be heavy rated M material. For now, the mood is still light but it will be getting kicked up in the next two school years. Hope you guys will be fine with that. I'm really looking forward to these next few weeks though! Enjoy guys!**

Chapter 13:

His knee was bounding beneath the table as he listened to Dumbledore drone on and on, welcoming the new first years and wishing every student their best year to come. If he hadn't known better, like the majority of the students within the school, Tom could see why everyone would admire the old fool as much as they did. Their _beloved_ Headmaster played the part almost expertly as he looked over the crowd before him with that twinkle in his pathetic gaze and the way he genuinely seemed to care about their well being. It was all a facade, Tom knew, but looking around at the other students made his blood boil because they didn't. There was nothing about Dumbledore that deserved _any_ of their admiration. The only ones that seemed to see right through the elder were his own housemates - the rest of the Slytherin population.

He darted a glance across the Hall and internally cursed as he caught sight of Harry nodding his head along with every word that Dumbledore spewed and one look down the rest of the Gryffindor table was all it took to see where Harry had developed his _influences_ from. _Harry should know better,_ he thought with a sneer. His brother knew what type of man Dumbledore truly was - one that turned his back against students in the blink of an eye. The man had no right to sit in the Headmaster's chair. Dippet was surely rolling in his grave, Tom had no doubt about it.

It was sickening, all of it, but it was watching Hermione smile up to that piss poor excuse of a Headmaster that made his insides churn. That man didn't deserve anything from her. She was too good, too smart, for that manipulating bastard.

Tom exhaled heavily through his nostrils and shared an exaggerated eye roll with Warrington as his housemate turned and looked at him questioningly.

One day he would make them _all_ see even if it meant doing it person by person. With a slow nod to himself, he decided that he knew the perfect person to start with. After all, there was a certain curly haired witch in his line of sight that was the source of his overwhelming… _restlessness_. He needed to talk to her, and as soon as possible.

* * *

Harry's eyelids felt heavy as he listened to Binns drone on and on, closing them briefly when the ghost would turn around and point to some chart suspended in the air. Honestly, did anyone really care about the bloody International Warlock Convention of 1289?

For the past thirty minutes, his head had been resting on the surface of his knuckles and after every handful of seconds, his head bobbed towards the desk, begging for sleep, however, a quick jab in his side had him shooting straight up in his chair - over and over and over again.

He darted a pleading look at Hermione but she merely pursed her lips, shaking her head and looking pointedly towards Professor Binns. She had told him long ago that it was disrespectful, and of course _he_ knew that, but looking around at the other students in the class, it appeared that _they_ didn't.

Through his peripheral, Harry longingly eyed Ron as the ginger drooled over his textbook, lost in the dream world that Harry desperately wanted in that moment. He didn't understand how Hermione sat so perfectly, writing impeccable notes and answering any question Binn shot out, all while not yawning or blinking for too long - _it was almost as if she were inhuman_ , he thought with a silent chuckle.

Therefore, when Binns finally released them from class, Harry nearly cried out in relief and hopped up from his stool with much more energy than he thought he had. He and Hermione had just made it past the door when Ron's jaw dropped open, his bright blue eyes going wide with glee.

"Bloody hell," Ron grinned goofily. Harry followed his line of sight and felt a spark of excitement shoot through him. There, in all their glory and gear, was the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, striding down the hall towards the pitch with their brooms clutched in their hands.

Harry's face lit up just as brightly as Ron's and together they watched as the team continued down the hall until they disappeared around the corner.

Instantly, they both lurched forward to chase after the team, however, just as Harry took a step, a pressure was pulling him back. Hermione had reached out and placed her hand on the inside of Harry's elbow, halting him from running off with Ron.

A whine left Harry's mouth, " _Hermione_."

Ron pulled on Harry's other arm but Hermione didn't budge. Her gaze hardened as she glanced annoyingly at Ron, snapping back to Harry and softening in the blink of an eye.

"We're _supposed_ to joining Tom in the library," she annunciated each and every word, with an underlying bite that he could hear. "Remember?"

Internally, he scolded himself and frowned. How could he have forgotten? He started to nod his head when Ron sighed loudly, _obnoxiously_.

"Oh, come _on_ mate," the redhead rolled his eyes. "If we don't learn their plays, how are we supposed to try out in a few weeks?

Hermione let go of him and crossed her arms over her chest, her brows raising. "Since when have the two of you decided to try out for the quidditch team?" she asked the both of them, but was facing him only. "Better yet, does _Tom_ know what you plan on wasting your time on?"

He opened his mouth to reply but Ron beat him to it. "Does _Tom_ -," Ron mocked in her voice, "- have to know everything he does? For Merlin's sake, he can make his own decisions you know."

Harry looked at Ron with wide eyes. Did he...did he just suggest… Harry was ready to shake his head in protest at Ron's words but he stopped before he began. His mouth snapped shut.

He blinked once, then twice, almost as if he was beginning to see for the very first time and in a sense, it was as if he really was. Ron's words had been the wake up call he didn't know he needed. In reality, Ron was _right_. If he wanted to watch the quidditch team, then he could. If he wanted to go rot away in the library, then he could. He didn't need to get anyone's permission, least of all Tom's.

Slowly, he nodded his head and shared a grin with Ron before he focused on Hermione. However, before he said anything, her arms dropped to her sides and she was looking at him with such surprise and disbelief that he almost took back his words before he actually said them.

"Tom will understand," he said, ignoring the twinge of doubt that knotted itself in his gut. "Besides, it's just one quidditch practice." Ron tugged on the sleeves of his robes once again, causing Harry to turn and start walking in the direction the team had. "You can come if you want," he shot over his shoulder before they got too far away. It was pretty far fetched considering she absolutely hated anything to do with a flying but he wasn't _not_ going to invite her.

But as he knew she would, Hermione scrunched her nose. "I'll pass."

And before either of them could say anything else, he and Ron were gone.

* * *

"Where's Harry?"

Tom eyed her with feigned concern, the very moment she sat down in the chair beside him. The corner of his mouth twitched as he watched her bristle at the mention of his brother's name. In truth, he had seen the whole debacle between the two and that worthless shite Weasley. He had seen Harry run after the quidditch team like a wet-behind-the-ear first year and the very moment he did see his brother, he wasn't going to refrain from telling him so. The quidditch team? _Really_? As if Harry could do anything more _embarrassing_.

He wondered when the change for Harry had happened - when his brother had so incorrectly assumed that pursuing the skill of quidditching could overweigh anything academic. He had heard Harry tell Hermione that he'd understand, but really, he was far from it. Tom had been close to grabbing Harry by the collar and dragging him up to the library before forcing his nose down into the book. There was nothing - _absolutely nothing_ \- that his brother would gain by watching twits fly around on stupid brooms. But, with a strong will power of his own, Tom had let him go.

 _However_ \- it wasn't as if he was doing it out of the kindness of his heart. Even if Harry had arrived, he had planned to send him off the very moment he could. There were other times he could talk to Harry and now was _not_ the time. He wanted the witch beside him all to himself for the next hour, and it wouldn't have been possible if his brother had shown up.

Hermione sighed, "Harry's not going to be joining-"

"Good."

Her brown eyes snapped to his and he could see the questions swimming beneath her honey iris' as he leveled her stare.

She cocked her head to the side slightly, stilling her movements and he took that time to pull her book out from his satchel. When he placed it onto the table, her gaze dropped to the novel before shooting back up to him. The questions brewing through her mind doubled, he could tell.

"I read through your notes," he explained as he began to flip through her book, gently just as he had seen her do time and time. Tom glanced at her and watched as understanding began to sink in. "You left them between the pages. Leave it to you to use muggle post-its," he grinned up at her, enjoying the deep crimson that began to taint her cheeks.

Her mouth opened and closed, gaze hardening as she prepared to defend herself. "There's nothing wrong with pursuing knowledge."

A scoff escaped his lips. "Oh, I know that," he replied silkily. " _But-_ ," Tom's hand stilled as he found what he was looking for. In sinister letters that seemed to lick against his skin, read the tantalizing words, _The Chamber of Secrets._ His gaze snapped up to her. "- too much knowledge can take you to dark, dangerous places."

Her eyes darted from the page on display, to the dozens of notes, to his awaiting gaze. She licked her lips and swallowed heavily. "Well, I don't see it that way."

His brows rose mockingly. " _Oh_ you don't?"

"No," she said, stiffly. "It's the wizard that decides if knowledge is dark or not. The same goes for magic."

He hummed as if he was considering her words, fingers trailing across the words on the pages. Leave it to her to have such an... _enlightening_ view. His sweet, naive Hermione.

"I suppose the creator of the killing curse wanted nothing more than to bestow peace on the world, no? Or perhaps, the unforgivables aren't _really_ unforgivables and should be taught to first years. Maybe, they should even practice the curses on one another...as long as they aren't doing it to be sinister, of course."

Hermione's lips pursed, eyes narrowing at him. "Sarcasm doesn't suit you, _Riddle_."

"Do you really think that is sarcasm?" he challenged her, not missing a beat. "Don't you think it would be beneficial for students to master the most ruthless curses at such a young age? From the very start you could see which of those that are worthy of their magic and which are not - a magical form of natural selection, if you ask me."

He regarded her carefully, seriously, and watched as her face fell; the way her brows furrowed slightly, her lips dipping at the corners as she frowned at him, those orbitals drowning him by the second. With every heartbeat that passed between them, he could see her closing off from him as realization and understanding dawned on her. And then her panic began to creep in, softly mingling into him as well.

He forced a laugh and smiled, flashing his teeth. "I'm kidding, Hermione."

Tom didn't move as she continued to eye him, searching for something that he didn't know. However, as the seconds ticked by, she sighed as if in relief and eased back into her chair, stiffness long gone and forgotten.

"That wasn't funny, Tom," she mumbled.

He hadn't found it funny either, instead, he found it quite...stimulating. The idea wasn't that bad, it would surely sort through the talented quicker than seven long years of boring tutelage and hours of classes that taught spells that should be learned within a handful of minutes. He tilted his head to the side in consideration of the major flaws that would need to be corrected. Surely the professors would have to be carefully selected and- Tom shook his head. Now was not the time for insignificant matters.

"Would it help if I said I'm sorry?" he raised an arrogant brow, grinning slyly at her because they both knew he wouldn't even if she did say yes. It was enough, however, as her mouth stretched in amusement.

Her gaze shifted back onto the pages beneath his hand. "I forgot I had left them in there," she confessed. "I would have taken them out before I had given the book to you."

"Why were you so interested in Salazar's Chamber of Secrets?"

"Why not?"

His lips twitched. "This isn't casual reading," he motioned to the numerous notes littering the pages. "This is _weeks_ of researching." He stared unblinking at her as she tried to appear unbothered, but he could see straight through the act. Gryffindors were so bloody pathetic at trying to be deceptive.

He leaned closer towards her, his shoulder pressing flush against her own, his breath moving the curls framing her face. "You were looking for it." It wasn't a question and she knew that.

She met his gaze steadily, defiant nearly. _Such an open book_ , he mused. So young and already she was so much more than the other students around them. She was like him; hungry for knowledge and power, to discover the unknown and not give a damn about _quidditch_ or what's on the cover of Witch Weekly or lowering herself in the presence of those vile purebloods.

 _If only his brother could be the same._

Hermione blinked. "It's not like we would want to open it anyways."

It was all the confession he needed and he readily pounced on it. "Why not?" he pushed. If they were the ones to find the proclaimed Chamber of Secrets, he could already see their names flashing in the prophet, witches and wizards lining up down the sidewalks just to ask them how they did it. The success of two Muggleborns, besting all the arsehole Purebloods within the castle. It would be a victorious day.

She scoffed. "Why not?" she echoed in disbelief. "We're Muggleborns, Tom. Whatever monster is guarding the Chamber, it would kill us the very moment it saw us. Salazar Slytherin hated our kind, remember?"

"What if we found a way to defeat the monster," he asked. "What if we killed it? Can you imagine the amount of respect we would receive? There would be no doubt that we weren't the most powerful students in this school. Dumbledore _himself_ couldn't find it."

"Finding it and _opening_ it are two different things."

"How would you know if you found it _unless_ you opened it?"

She eyed him for a long moment before slowly shaking her head amazement. "Tom, you truly are as deranged as they come."

He laughed at that, before saying, "As we muggleborns like to say, 'Deranged, is my middle name."

Her soft giggles filled the air around them before abruptly cutting off as she spun towards him, brows furrowed. "I don't know you middle name," her voice whispered, almost as if in horror. "I know Harry's, Neville's, even _Ronald's_ ," she grimaced, "but _you_...you are as mysterious as they come."

He sat there, frozen underneath her inspectious gaze, like a puzzle she had yet to figure out, like she truly... _cared_ to know. What was it about her that was so damn different than anyone else? There were other people that were nice, there were even people that were warm and inviting towards strangers and anyone that they didn't know but it was always an act. People were nice because they wanted to be _known_ as nice people; they were warm and inviting because they wanted to be _those_ people that greeted strangers and welcomed them willingly, open arms waiting for a false embrace. He hated those people, just as he hated the Purebloods and Dumbledore. There was nothing more vile than a two faced person, with one hand outstretched to shake another while a knife is hidden behind their back and a smile is on full display, ready to capture their prey. But _she_ had no knife. She had no deceiving smile, no agenda that she could possibly play him as a fool. She _willingly_ cared about him, for him, even when no one was around. Warmth seeped deep into his bones as he gazed back at her waiting expression.

"Marvolo," he offered. The name sounded foreign to him, so rarely had he ever said it. He couldn't remember if he had ever told Harry, or if Harry had ever bothered to ask.

A soft smile played at her lips. "Marvolo," she repeated, the name rolling off of her tongue like an enchantment. Hermione repeated it a second time, this time he watched as her lips curved around each syllable, accent crisp. "I like it."

"It's...odd," he treaded carefully. He was rather uncomfortable, if he was being honest. It wasn't normal that he was given compliments especially on something as trivial as his name and to come from _her_ , nonetheless.

"You say odd, I say unique," she nugged the shoulder that was still against her own, pushing him teasingly. "It's much more creative than Jean."

He wondered if she only said her middle name because she thought he hadn't known it. Of course there was no way that she would've known that Slughorn had let it slip when Tom had asked one too many of the right questions last year. He figured she didn't need to know that.

"Well, as far as names go, you can't get any more basic than Tom." If he had a galleon for every Tom there was, he'd be richer than all the purebloods _combined_. "There's not that many Hermione's in the world," he continued. Before he had met her he had never heard of such a name before. He doubted there was another Hermione in the world that was magical like her, the chances were slim to none.

She tilted her head to the side as if considering his words. "True, _but_ there's only one Tom Marvolo. Sounds a bit magical, if you ask me."

Tom briefly turned his head to the side, breaking eye contact with Hermione, as a motion caught his attention. He watched as Draco Malfoy rushed past their table, keeping his head bowed and eyes everywhere except on them. Tom grinned at the sight. Since the term began, the blonde git didn't make his presence known as much as he had in the past. Usually, the Malfoy heir was arrogant when he strided into a room, nose held high in the air and sneer plastered on his face, but now, the pureblood barely made a peep. It was so _glorious_ to see Malfoy cower at the sight of him and essentially be knocked off his pedestal and thrown into the dirt like a mere servant. As far as Tom was concerned, it was where the blonde belonged.

"How strange…" Hermione muttered. His attention fixated on her instantly, searing into the side of her face as her head turned and watched Malfoy rush towards the exit. When the blonde was gone, she turned back around, lifting up a brow at him.

He shrugged off her concern with ease and pretended to be just as confused as she was. Honestly, Draco Malfoy was the last thing he wanted to ever talk about. It would've been mere breath wasted.

They both turned into their books simultaneously; her divulging into a thick tome about charms and he, skimming the pages of the Chamber of Secrets for the thousandth time to look for new information that he knew wasn't present. At that moment, he could probably recite the handful of pages by memory - that's how many times he had read and then _re-read_ it. He darted a glance at one of the numerous notes that contained a list of novels that mentioned the legendary Chamber and allowed his thumb to trace over the letterings of Hermione's handwriting. He wondered how many times she had ever written his own name, apart from the handful of last minute letters she had sent during the summer break. He wondered if she took her time with each letter she scripted, or if she rapidly swept across the parchment like he had seen her do with her essays. He wondered how his full name would look, now that she knew it.

 _Tom Marvolo Riddle._ He tried to imagine it, saying his name out loud within his head. Her own voice was drifting through his skull.

 _Sounds a bit magical, if you ask me._

His dark eyes stared into the pages of the book, lost in his thoughts, as one word played over and over.

 _Magical_.

He hummed so softly that it fell upon deaf ears.

* * *

Harry had to admit that he had expected Tom to approach him much sooner than he had. It had been weeks since he had decided to skip their daily sessions in the library to spend with Ron and the other Gryffindors to watch the quidditch team, and he had known that Tom would be anything less than pleased. Tom had never taken a liking to the sport- finding it a complete waste of time- and in the beginning he had too, but _now_ , the longer Harry watched and learned, he had never seen anything more _exciting_. It was mesmerizing, all of it. It got his blood rushing at the mere sight. The way the players zoomed around on their brooms - all different colors and styles, different speeds and agilities- and the way they made the sport seem so effortless, as if they were born to play it. It made him crave for the opportunity to jump on a broom and fly off into the sky; all homework and study sessions and commanding brothers being left behind and forgotten. If only…

Therefore, it wasn't much of a surprise when he rammed straight into his brother after leaving the quidditch pitch with several of the others. Tom didn't spare any of the others a glance and chose to stare at him, unimpressed, with his arms crossed over his chest. Harry barely contained an annoyed groan, and wordlessly nodded his goodbye to Ron, Dean, and Seamus.

They left without hesitation, all briefly glancing towards Tom with worry clear in their gaze but none of them bothered to say anything. Harry was sure none of them would ever _willingly_ speak to Tom, unless they absolutely had too, but he did nothing as he watched them leave.

It was only when their footsteps could no longer be heard, that Tom broke his silence.

"You're an idiot."

Harry rolled his eyes. He had thought he was prepared for this fight but all his planned excuses and retorts went flying out his brain.

"Did _Hermione_ tell you to say that?" he asked. It was no secret that although _he_ had chosen to skip out on the library sessions, Hermione had not. There was no doubt in his mind that Tom and Hermione whispered their disapprovals about him to each other.

Tom scoffed. "No," his brother barked out. "But if she had, would you have listened to her? Since, apparently, you absolutely _refuse_ to listen to me." Was Tom _serious_ right now? He couldn't possibly actually believe that!

His face scrunched in disbelief. For Tom being so bright, he was surely _dumb_ as well. "I always listen to you. I've obeyed every word you've said since the day I met you."

Harry watched as Tom's brows rose high on his forehead. "Really? Then please, by all means, explain why you are wasting your attention and time on something as useless as quidditch and not on things that really matter? Are you truly that dense?!"

Why was it that Tom thought his opinions were always right? It was as if his brother could never bare to listen to anything else that contradicted his logic. Tom couldn't _always_ be right. Or at least, Harry assumed he couldn't...

"I don't want to waste away in a stupid library, Tom," the words were flying out of his mouth before he could think them through. "I made high marks all year last term and now I want to do something else."

Tom's stare narrowed. "What are your marks now?" he shot out.

"I don't know," Harry answered with a careless shrug. Of course he knew what his marks were but he didn't feel like they would help him in any way with this argument. "They're not...bad. I'm doing better than Ron."

When Tom's glare hardened even further, Harry nearly slapped his forehead at his sheer stupidity. Knowing Tom, that wouldn't make the slightest difference. If anything, simply bringing up Ron's name would make everything worse by a tenfold.

"Well, I would certainly _hope_ so, Harry. That friend of yours makes a troll look brilliant."

He could feel a headache starting to spike. Hastily, he rubbed at his temples. "I was just watching, Tom. You act like I ran off and became Gryffindor's seeker!"

"Watching means that you're interested. If you're interested, then what's keeping you from trying out to be like those thick headed _idiots_ that have suffered one concussion too many?"

He didn't know what to say. There was nothing he could say that would make Tom change his mind, absolutely nothing.

Tom, however, didn't relent. "How can a _quidditch_ player rule the world? How can _quidditch_ possibly take you anywhere in this world?"

Harry darted his attention towards the ground. _Well_ , he thought, _it was now or never._

"Maybe… I don't want to rule the world."

It felt as if every lifeform on the planet died, with nothing more than static vibrating against the membranes of his ears. He could feel the anger in the air, could feel the wild magic lashing out of Tom as he stood there, not daring to even breath. It felt like hours until Harry brought his head up, slowly and hesitantly as if Tom were seconds away from exploding. He swallowed heavily at the harsh glare Tom sent him. It was more cruel than ever before. Regret swallowed him whole.

Tom leaned slightly to be eye leveled with him. Somehow, Harry had failed to realize before, just how much taller Tom was now compared to him. It made him feel small, made him feel insignificant.

"Do what you want, Harry," Tom hissed. "When we get out of this school and you are nothing more than an infirm, everyday wizard, don't come to me complaining. I won't give a damn."

Harry released a tired sigh, "Tom-"

"No," Tom stormed past him, his shoulder shoving into Harry's. "I'm _done_."

With no other choice, Harry watched as Tom disappeared down the corridor. His brain was screaming at him to run after him, or to at least bloody say something, but Harry stood rooted in his spot. He decided that it was best that he wait until tomorrow to hunt his brother down. That would at least give Tom some time to cool down first.

Harry nodded to himself. Come tomorrow morning, all would be as it was.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14:

He was going mad, he was sure of it. He couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't even focus on his studies. All he could think about was the damn Chamber of Secrets. It was driving him insane, slowly but steadily, as he tore through the library looking for anything that he could use. He had been at it for days. He had thumbed through dozens of books, read through thousands of words to find the smallest detail that could give him _anything_ , anything that could point him in some bloody direction but he was running in circles, finding information that was repeated in book after book with slight differences that made him start to think that the Chamber was nothing more than a load of shite. Leave it to Salazar Slytherin to fool scholars into thinking that there was anything as deadly as the Chamber within the walls of Hogwarts. Tom could picture the twisted fool plotting how one little lie could haunt the Hogwarts residents for the rest of eternity, trying to ensue fear within the future muggleborn community that would walk through the halls. Begrudgingly, he had to admit that it was a genius idea. An insidious stroke of brilliance that succeeded in tormenting him and leaving him tethering on the break of insanity.

He was desperate now. He couldn't _not_ know whether the Chamber truly did exist or not. If it really was a legend, nothing more than a fib that had lasted for hundreds of years, how had it gotten as infamous as it was? How could so many books mention it but not have any information to backup their findings? It was unfathomable. There had to be _something_ that made them believe it was real, that made everyone really think it existed.

Tom sighed heavily in annoyance and snapped the book in his hands shut. He closed his eyes and used a hand to rub the strain that had built up around his orbitals. It felt heavenly to rest them, immediately feeling the stress ease and melting away.

"You good?" a familiar voice rang out. _Warrington_.

He didn't bother to move his hand from his eyes, only nodded his head as he reclined deep into the leather seat he was in. He did nothing but stay still, enjoying the black abyss that played within his skull and the faint warmth from the flames that wafted through the common room. He tried to enjoy the peace but found the quiet tantalizing, almost as if it were mocking his progress in his research. _Peace_ meant he was doing nothing. _Peace_ meant he had no worries to stress about. _Peace_ meant he was content with himself and at the very moment, he was so far from content.

He sighed again.

"Anything that I can help you with?"

He wanted to sneer and spat that he needed no ones help, but he held his tongue. He couldn't chase away one of the few people that would actually do his bidding. The thought was quite humorous though, to actually think that he would ever need anyone's help, especially within this school. He was better than them. They knew it. Hell, they even knew that he knew. What more could he possibly need from them? He had already used them and had gotten all he-

His eyes snapped open. Tom tilted his head in contemplation- _could it really be that simple_? Would he willingly depend on _them_ , of all people, to help _him_? They had done it once before and look at how successful their aid had been. Malfoy didn't dare show his face around them anymore. He had known that their confrontation with Malfoy had been the start of something...powerful, in a sense, but just how far did that power go?

Tom grinned and turned in his chair, locking his gaze onto Warrington's awaiting one.

"Actually, there is something you can do for me."

* * *

Large hands forced Malfoy into the chair in a heap, his robes flying around him as he thrashed against Montague's hold. Tom could hear Malfoy muttering unintelligible words, cursing and sneering, " _How dare you put your hands on me!_ " and " _My father will hear about this_!" but Tom paid no mind to the half-arsed threats. Malfoy was nothing, not a threat to him or anyone else in this room; a mere boy that lived behind a bloodline that Tom only laughed at now. Did Malfoy and the others truly think he gave a damn about their family lines, or whose blood was more pure? Maybe he would need to show them the truth. Forcing it down their throats, if need be.

Tom had debated involving Malfoy for hours, days even. If he were truly going to find assistance, Malfoy was the perfect option. The younger Slytherin was already underneath his thumb, the pawn Tom could use at any moment he needed and really, self preservation was key. It was all about survival with them. There was no doubt in his mind that Malfoy would have knowledge that wasn't available through the Hogwarts library. Instead, he would have been told the legendary tall tales through the account of his own family through the generations before him. If there was anyone that was going to know anything about the secrets hidden within the castle, Draco Malfoy was it. No matter how intolerable Tom found the younger Slytherin, he was desperate, feverish almost. And honestly, it wouldn't matter in the end. When he was done with Malfoy, the pureblood would have no recollection of what was about to transpire between them. Well...at least that's what Tom hoped would happen.

His attention was zeroed on the housemates before him, watching every movement the pureblood made with sharp, unrelenting eyes that were testing, _always_ testing, for the slightest doubt.

Malfoy kept pushing himself out of the chair, only to be thrown back in by Montague, but the blonde didn't relent. The sight was almost impressive, however, when Malfoy's wide gaze caught sight of him, he froze. Tom could almost taste the panic that was falling off the pureblood in waves, thick and tense, as it suffocated the room.

With Malfoy's struggles gone, Tom dismissed Montague with a curt nod of his head and didn't tear his stare away from the pureblood as the older boy breezed past. Tom already knew that Montague was headed for the back table where Warrington sat, since it had been he who had suggested they do as he talked to Malfoy. _To be his lookouts_ , he had told them. In reality, he didn't need them to do a thing, but when they had been so eager to… please last year, Tom didn't want to pass up another opportunity for them to prove their capabilities to him. It seemed quite pointless to not seek the assistance of his... _peers_. Afterall, why do all the work when someone else could do it instead?

Tom leaned forward slightly when he realized that Malfoy was paying him no mind, and instead had chosen to watch Montague and Warrington. That sickening ill expression on his pale face made Tom want to do nothing more than scratch it away piece by piece, flesh and blood dripping onto the floor until Malfoy understood who the real threat in the room was.

"Don't look at them," Tom ordered. He enjoyed the flinch that coursed through Malfoy's body as he registered the hard, cruel tone. "Look at me," he continued without pause. "I'm the one talking to you, am I not? If you would like all three of our attention at one time, then I will be more than happy to oblige."

If possible, Malfoy paled even further and shakily nodded his head. His mercury orbs drifted up to him, and with a start, Tom realized he had been wrong. The boy in front of him was terrified to the bone. The expression on Malfoy's face had told him the truth - Malfoy knew exactly who was in charge here, knew exactly who held the power and who had gave the order to bring him here.

 _Him_.

With Malfoy's undivided attention on him, he spoke, "Tell me, _Draco_ , how have you been?"

A strangled noise left Malfoy's throat, looking like he had been electrocuted by such simple words. It was as if Tom had said the very words Malfoy had ever expected to hear from him. However, Malfoy's silence was quickly setting him on edge. He had never been much for patience. Despised it, really. _Virtue my arse,_ he thought with a sneer before snapping, "Do I need to repeat myself?"

Malfoy flinched once more. "N-No...I-I haven't said a word to Granger, or Potter. I've done as you said."

Tom's eyes narrowed. "I do not believe I asked you anything about Granger or Potter. But with your need to insist otherwise, it makes me wonder just how truthful you are being." He knew, of course, that Malfoy hadn't spoken a word to Hermione since the afternoon of their...confrontation. There was no doubt in Tom's mind that Malfoy would ever say another sentence to Hermione, but it was so much _fun_ to rile the git up and see him shake and quiver like the coward he was.

"I'm telling the truth, I swear to it," Malfoy insisted. "You could ask them yourself, I haven't even looked at them. If this is about getting partnered in Charms class, you have to understand that I had no control-"

"Flitwick has assigned partners?" Tom scoffed. "Leave it to him to settle the rivalry between you and Harry. I heard all about your duel, there's no doubt that the rest of the professors did as well."

Oh yes, their duel. It was the latest buzz within the school. Hermione had said it had been quite sloppy, but entertaining nonetheless. Hexes and spells had flown back and forth between the pair, some landing, some firing off into the distance. When Hermione had first told him, he had expected Harry to have been the clear winner and at least resulting in Malfoy spending a night or two in the Infirmary, but to his utter disappointment, Malfoy walked away unscathed. Apparently, there had been no clear winner and the only reason why the duel was cut off was because Justin Finch-Fletchley had gotten bit by the snake Malfoy had sent out with a _Serpensortia_. It was as if Harry was doing everything in his power to embarass himself. And really, the last thing any muggleborn wanted to do was lose to a pureblood. Harry was only ruining it for those that fought to stay above and beyond those with 'superior' bloodlines - those students like he and Hermione.

Malfoy looked at him in confusion, his brows pulled together slightly, before shaking his head. "I...I wasn't talking about-"

Tom cut him off with a careless wave of his hand. "I don't care about the duel," he said. "Nor do I care about Charms class either. I only want to talk to you. We can do that, right?"

The blonde inhaled shakily as his fingers flexed around the ends of the chair, waiting. He jerked his head in understanding.

"Good," Tom flashed him a faux grin. It was one the pureblood knew was fake. "I will only ask you one question and if I have any suspicion that you are lying to me," he tilted his head, tutting, "I'm afraid your outcome will not be one you will enjoy."

WIth nothing more for discussion, Tom leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he shut the rest of the world out from their conversation. "Tell me," his dark gaze burned into Malfoy's, "What do you know about the Chamber of Secrets?"

* * *

Tom's brows were furrowed in concentration as he stared ahead, wand pointed and trained on Malfoy before him. He was pressing forward through Malfoy's conscience as their previous conversation rewound itself over and over. He took his time, shifting through each frame work piece by piece as he wiped himself clear. It was taking him longer than he expected, but he was merely a beginner in the art of obliviation. He had been wary attempting something as ambitious as an obliviate, especially being so _young_ , but he had been determined. He couldn't risk the possibility of Malfoy running off and blabbing to the professors if he were to eventually find the chamber as he so _painstakingly_ desired. It all had to be secret.

His wand dipped as the magic flowed through him. He couldn't see himself anymore, no blur or shadowed figure. The sounds as well were gone, no whispered murmurs of the Chamber or the endless questions he had shot at Malfoy. It was all gone. _Because of him_ , he thought to himself. _His power._

He pulled away with the drop of his wand and blinked, taking note of the empty look in Malfoy's mercury orbs. He looked for anything that could signal he hadn't succeeded; a twitch, flinch, _anything_. Tom wasn't going to walk away unless he knew he hadn't failed.

Footsteps approached and stood behind him. Tom could feel their presence, could feel their breaths as they stared at Malfoy from over his shoulder.

"Did it work?" Warrington asked, effectively breaking the silence.

Tom didn't answer. Instead, his watchful gaze stayed trained on his project. Had it worked? The books had said that it took years to master the skill. He didn't need perfection, not yet at least, but he needed it to work for the time being. He had taken it nice and slow. Tom didn't want to miss anything.

Montague stepped around them and bent down in front of Malfoy, bringing up his hand to snap in front of the pureblood - once, twice - and yet still nothing from Malfoy. A victorious smirk blossomed on Montague's face as he turned back around to peer at them. "I believe it did."

"What do we do now?" Warrington's question was enough to capture Tom's attention.

Montague eyed his friend in annoyance. "We can't exactly _hide_ him, can we Caius?" his voice dripped in sarcasm. "His friends will notice he's missing eventually."

Tom nodded his head. "We will release him like we agreed we would," he reminded the others, sharply. _This_ is why he was the one in charge. The others would fall apart if he didn't give the orders.

"Go get Bletchley and tell him we are finished," he turned to instruct Warrington, watching as the young man nodded his head and rushed off. The third member of his selected housemates had acted as their watchout in the hall incase anyone decided to come strolling into the common room and ruining their - _his_ \- plans.

He had gotten what he had needed from Malfoy and now it was time to send the git on his way, even if he weren't fully aware of what the hell he was doing.

Tom's head snapped up, however, as he heard the familiar stone wall open, knowing that Warrington hadn't had enough time to make his exit. In a rushed movement, he moved his body to block Malfoy from view and allowed his wand to slide expertly into his fingers. _Stupefy_ was on the tip of his tongue, ready to strike, before he was able to see just who it was that had emerged through the door.

Bletchley entered the room with an annoyed expression, briefly eyeing Malfoy's body, before stopping before Tom. With a breath, Bletchley informed him, "Your brother is asking for you."

All eyes turned towards him. Tom's hand tightened around his wand. Leave it to Harry to have such _perfect_ timing. It had been days since they had their little _spat_ , but both had pretended that it simply hadn't happened. It was more on Harry's part, he would admit, however, he had just went with it. His words still hung between the pair of them but it seemed that Harry hadn't taken him seriously enough. He hated to say it, but in time Harry would see just how serious he had been. They would be at Hogwarts only for a short period of their lives. Eventually one day they would both be on their own.

He resisted heaving a sigh and pushed his feet forward.

"Leave Malfoy as he is," he ordered over his shoulder. "I would advise the three of you to keep clear of him for the next half hour as he regains his conscience. I don't believe I need to inform you to act natural, correct?" Tom asked, turning to look at them.

The three Slytherins all shook their head.

"Good," he nodded. He was gone before any of them could say another word.

* * *

By the time Winter Break came around, Tom had notebooks filled to the brim with all of his findings. It was all scattered before him, looking like a tornado had ripped through his bedroom. If Mrs. Cole or anyone else were to walk in, he was sure they'd look at him as if he'd gone insane with the way he switched from one page to the next, scanning and categorizing everything he could before continuing on.

" _Slytherin built a hidden chamber in the castle…"_

He reached across the floor boards of his room and snatched another paper.

"... _which the other founders knew nothing of…"_

Tom shook his head. How could the other founders not know about Slytherin's chamber? How could Slytherin construct something without them finding out? He sighed in aggravation, throwing the papers down to pick up another.

" _...Chamber will remain sealed until the true heir arrived…"_

Heir. It was the word that all of this- this _research_ came back to. It was the key in all of this, Tom knew. The direct descendent of such a vile and demented man was something that Tom could hardly fathom. Who, in their right mind, would create a child with that monster? Tom paused, tilting his head to the side to consider the other...alternative motives that Slytherin could've taken in order to produce an heir. Perhaps the woman hadn't been as willing as Tom had been so oblivious to assume. The thought was revolting but he continued to pore over the paper.

" _The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic."_

He tried to imagine the pure chaos that would ensue if the Chamber was truly opened- the bloodshed, the _casualties_. The creature that would emerge from the chamber would be uncontrollable, killing a devouring any muggleborn in sight. The thought was terrifying to think that he would be on the dinner menu of a creature, but _his_ wellbeing was the last on his mind. Horrifying images fluttered into his skull; Hermione screaming in pain, Harry drenched in blood, unmoving, as a beast towered above them, teeth glittering in the light. Tom clenched his eyes shut and forced the images away.

The heir of Salazar Slytherin would be the most powerful in the school, being the key to unleashing a monster that could rip across the student population like a plague. That kind of power in the hands of the wrong individual was bound to be a living nightmare.

Tom's gaze snapped towards a stack of parchment that detailed the lineage of Slytherin. He had gone through page by page of names and faces of witches and wizards that held no importance to him, but were known relatives of the founder. He had barely began going through the first handful of papers a few days ago, but he had stopped when he realized he had gotten nowhere near halfway. Besides, the trail would be endless unless he knew exactly what he needed to find. He knew he was missing something. It was the one piece of information that he knew would connect everything. But for the life of him, he couldn't find it. He was a lost cause that had no direction to go in, a blind man looking at a painting from the outside. All he had was one thing that pushed his efforts forward.

He sighed tiredly and glanced at the book in his lap. _Hogwarts: A History_ was there, mocking him. The book was giving him everything, yet he had never felt more unsated in his life. The answer was there. He had known it the second he had come across it, but the logical side of his mind refused to believe it. He had no proof. Yet, he had nothing that proved otherwise either.

There was no debate that he was, indeed, a Parselmouth. He spoke the language of serpents just as clearly as he spoke English. It wasn't a coincidence. Tom knew that. However, he also knew that every parselmouth ever known, was a direct descendent from Salazar Slytherin.

His jaw clenched painfully as he tore his gaze away from the pages. He snapped his book shut and reached up to place the book on his bed, missing Nagini by inches. He knew what he needed to do. He couldn't prolong the inevitable anymore.

With purpose, he stood from the floor and glided to his door.

* * *

Tom stared at the panel of wood before him for what had felt like hours. He shouldn't be here, shouldn't be in this hall, yet, here he was as if it were his own. He had snuck down the stairs without being seen, then again, he was hardly ever seen unless he wanted to make his presence known. It had been easy to hide in the shadows, wandering down the halls and passing door after door until he reached his destination. He had never thought he would have come _here_ of all places but its what was necessary. He needed to get his answers one way or another. Tom wanted this to be as quick as possible; done and over with so he could continue on his way and not look back.

He straightened himself up. The woman would see him for the young man he had become, no longer some naive little boy who would hold his tongue and hide whenever she said to. She was going to see him for what he was now: _powerful_.

Tom raised his hand to knock on the door. Once, twice, three times the sound dulled into his ears- and then silence. He knew she was in there. She had nowhere else _to_ go.

Then, there was no quiet. He could hear her footsteps as she stomped across the wooden floor. At one time in his life, he remembered being terrified of those footsteps, and what those footsteps meant. He remembered the punishments she would put him through, the accusations she threw at him. But they were of the past now. He wondered what would happen if she dared to approach him now. He would have her on her knees, screaming in agony in a heartbeat, if he wanted to.

The footsteps stopped. He could see the shadow of her feet from the bottom of the door, until suddenly, the door was no longer separating them.

"I told you kids to-" her voice died in her throat as her eyes landed on him. The annoyance vanished from her gaze and in its place, was a sheer, unmeasurable amount of loathing.

Mrs. Cole raised her chin into the air. "Tom," her voice turned sharper, "What are you doing down here?"

He glared at her. There were only two people on the entire planet that he hated more than anything. One was the fool of a headmaster, and the other was the woman in front of him. He couldn't wait for the day that the cruel woman would be lowered into the grave, left to rot and fill the stomach of the worms that would feast upon her remains.

"In case you have forgotten," he spat at her, "I live in this institution."

She crossed her arms. "Oh, I haven't forgotten. I will not rest easily until you are out of these doors. I count the days one by one." Mrs. Cole moved further into her office and he was quick to follow after. He had never been in here before but he knew this was the place she kept all of the record of every child that ever walked through the main doors. He glanced quickly at the large file cabinets that littered an entire wall, top to bottom, side by side. Somewhere in those metal contraption, lied his own file.

"What do you want?" Mrs. Cole's voice brought him out of his reverie. He met her suspicious stare dead on. "I know you don't come out of your room unless you absolutely have too. You think you're better than everyone here just because you go to that fancy school. I know it was you that managed to get Harry admission as well. He's a sweet boy that you've managed to corrupt."

He ignored her with ease. "I have been merciful these past years. I have let you live in peace, along with the others."

Mrs. Cole sat up behind her desk, her gaze turning incredulous. "You cannot threaten me, Tom. That man- Dumbledore - warned me all about you. One wrong move and he will be here."

He stiffened at the name. When, exactly, had Dumbledore approached her? Had it been the very day he arrived? Or years later? The audacity that Dumbledore had told _this_ woman- this horrid, unbearable imbecile of a dame- anything about him, made his blood boil. How dare they!

"He gave me everything I needed in case you would act out," she continued. "He warned me long ago. Initially, I had assumed I would be contacting him in less than a year, yet, you have… surprised me. I won't hesitate to admit that I have found your absence quite pleasing."

He sneered. "I won't pretend that I value how you feel."

Her stare hardened as she once again, crossed her arms. "What do you want, Tom?"

It was the question of the century. What did he want? He wanted power. He wanted to rule over the purebloods. He wanted Dumbledore to fear him. He wanted Harry to get his head out of his arse. He wanted Hermione to be here, with him. He wanted to become Head Boy. He wanted to rule the world. He wanted so many things, craved for the answers to all of his questions.

Tom's attention never wavered from the aging woman as he spoke, "I want to know about my parents."

* * *

 **Ending Note: I had to write this chapter twice -_- I had written an entire 3000 words before I stopped and reread and decided that I hated it. So, I scrapped it and started new and now I love it. I hope you guys can tell that these past few chapters have been escalating! Let me hear your thoughts! Until next time.**


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15:

Mrs. Cole's brows lifted high onto her forehead. "You're parents?" she huffed. "I have no idea who you _think_ you are, but _you_ have no parents. You have been an orphan your entire life."

His eyes narrowed in aggravation. He was in no mood to deal with her games. He wanted what he had come here for and nothing more. Tom pressed on, "I want to know."

"And what, pray tell, do you believe you will find? Why are you curious now?" she eyed him suspiciously. "You've never gave a damn about your _parents_ before."

"I have the right to see my folder," he sneered. "You can't keep it from me."

Mrs. Cole stood up. "Oh, I don't plan too," she marched over to the cabinets and retched one open. It hadn't taken her long to shuffle through the tags- bypassing names he knew she probably couldn't place faces to- until her hands found the one with _his_ name on it and pulled it out. She handed it to him with haste as if merely touching it burned her flesh. "You won't find much," she grimaced at the folder as he griped it. "But nonetheless it's all in there."

His hands clutched around the manilla folder. Everything about _him_ was in there. Tom swallowed uncomfortably as he stared down at his hands. The folder felt much too thin. Was there anything even _in_ it? Had Mrs. Cole tried to play some sick, twisted joke on him? Had she waited years for this moment, the day he would come seeking answers? But...could he honestly be disappointed if he expected nothing?

He spared her one last glance before ripping the folder open. Tom had never read faster in his entire life, scanning every detail, every piece of information that they had. His name was at the top; Tom Marvolo Riddle, in thin, blocked letterings. His date of birth followed, born: December 31 in the year of 1977 at Wool's Orphanage, weight and length all recorded. He moved on quickly, discarding the information carelessly. None of that was important.

But as his eager gaze continued down, his eyes widened, shooting across the paper frantically. He turned the paper to see if his information continued onto the back, but it too was blank.

His breathing turned labored, chest heaving as the reality began to crash down upon him. This...this was it? A few scribbled sentences onto a piece of paper? His entire existence reduced to a handful of words? It couldn't be...

"Where's the rest?" His voice was raw, more deeper than he was accustomed to.

Mrs. Cole raised her brow. "I told you there wasn't much. Did you think I was lying?"

A humorless breath fell through his lips. "No," he swallowed. "No, I didn't." _I didn't expect anything_ , he silently admitted. He had expected nothing yet was still disappointed. It was a hard pill to swallow to see that in a cruel sense, he really was nothing but an orphan. His parents hadn't even taken bothered to write their names down onto that paper trembling in his grasp. They hadn't spared him two fucking seconds of their lives. They couldn't wait for the moment to be _free_ of him. What did that depict of their character? They were skum; the worst of the worst. And yet, he was the direct result of both of them combined. He wondered what that made him.

Slowly, he brought his head up to stare at the woman before him. He knew she was enjoying this. His misery was her sole source of entertainment and in that moment, he had never hated her more. How _dare_ she. If he wasn't in the grips of wizarding law, he'd have her murdered in a heartbeat, making her choke on her own blood.

It was what she deserved.

His fingers twitched to do the deed but he had mastered the skill of self control years ago. She had said so herself that Dumbledore had warned her. One small move on his part, and he'd be expelled from Hogwarts, his haven. She wasn't worth it, no one was.

"...Tom," his sinister thoughts spiked as the woman's voice reached his ears. What more could she possibly want? His dark gaze narrowed as he took in her hesitation, more uncomfortable than he had ever seen her. "I know you were hoping for something more...useful but like I said, there wasn't much we were given."

Were his ears deceiving him? Was that sincerity in her tone? Is that what it sounded like coming from her?

He stayed quiet, unsure of what to say.

"Your mother…" she began, slowly, brown eyes settling anywhere but on him. His brows raised, the breath getting caught in his chest. "- told me you were to be named Tom...after your father, and Marvolo, for her father. I always thought the name was quite odd...figured she had been part of a circus of some sort. The last thing she had said was that your surname was to be Riddle, and that was it. While your mother was here for those few short hours, she was alone. No one ever came for you… or her, even after the police were informed."

"The police?" he repeated, confused but forcing his face to stay blank and unreadable. He had displayed far too much to her as it was.

Her head swiveled towards him. "What else were I supposed to do? The police needed to file a report in case someone came asking question. Besides, someone had to retrieve the body."

 _Body…_

He felt the color drain from his face. His mouth became dry, too dry for words to form in his throat.

Mrs. Cole eyed his reaction, before shuttering in understanding. "Oh," she cried out. "I'm...I-I'm so sorry. After all this time, I figured you knew…"

His jaw clenched and unclenched, closing his eyes briefly. _He didn't care_ , he kept repeating to himself. He _didn't_ care. A dead mother was the least of his concern. He didn't care about her, never had, never will. She hadn't given a damn about him, so why should he? His mother was probably better off dead anyways.

"Why-" Tom cleared his throat. "Why wasn't that listed in my folder?"

The greying woman frowned. "It was a coroner report, Tom. Nothing more than police business."

He stared at the woman in disbelief. Had the bint ever planned on telling him that his mother was dead? Nonetheless, he had deserved to know.

"And my father?" he forced out.

Mrs. Cole shook her head. "As I said, no one ever came."

Of course they hadn't. Otherwise, he wouldn't still be there. No one had come. Not a single person on either of his parents side had come from him. He had been born an orphan and left to rot in a facility designed for children just like him. Parentless.

The familiar ache rattled throughout his chest the longer he dwelled. He didn't like it. With nothing more to say, he stepped away from Mrs. Cole and towards the door.

However, her nauseating voice halted his recession. "I'll be needing that folder back, Tom."

In the blink of an eye, he rounded on her. "Why?" he snapped. Now that his hands were around it, the folder belonged to no one else but him. No one else had any business looking at its contents. "You and I both know that no one will come looking for this...or me."

She looked like she were about to argue against him, but she deflates in defeat, shoulders sagging as she nodded her head solemnly.

He spun around and fled before the woman could change her mind.

* * *

The very moment Harry left his room, something- better yet, _someone_ \- rammed straight into him. He stumbled at the collision, fumbling into the wall, before bringing his head up to look at the other individual. In surprise, his eyes widened as he took in the sight of his brother. What in Merlin's name was Tom doing outside of his room? It was still hours from dinner and Tom's speed alone was more than enough to tell Harry that something was very, _very_ wrong.

"Tom?" he tried to capture his brother's attention, but it was to no avail. "What were you doing?" Harry's worried gaze trailed down the small hallway to see if anything or anyone was out of place, fearing that somewhere within the orphanage, something horrible had happened. His eyes traveled back onto his brother and saw the edge of a folder just as Tom moved it behind his back. His brows raised.

"Tom-" his eyes shot up to his brother, however, he paused as he saw the overwhelming vulnerability that clouded Tom's dark blue orbs. Immediately, he became filled with concern. There was something wrong with Tom, something that was clawing at his insides and making it so bad that the emotions showed on his brother's face.

But Tom ignored him. Tom stepped around him and pushed the door of his room open, halting in the doorway before spinning around. Harry paused as he caught sight of Nagini coil around Tom's shoes, welcoming him back into their home. Her bright yellow eyes were narrowed on him, tongue flicking into the air. Harry was quick to avert his gaze, and shifted it past Tom. Through the small crack of his door, Harry could see numerous papers thrown about. His green eyes widened in alarm. It looked like chaos; pure, untamable chaos.

"Tom-"

The older boy closed the crack of his door by several inches, after seeing Harry's curious stare, until it was only his face that was visible.

"I'll speak to you later, Harry," Tom rushed out and before Harry could do or say anything more, the door was closed.

Alone, Harry frowned as he stared at the door of his brother's room. Ever since Tom confronted him at Hogwarts, they had shared only a handful of sentences with each other. The only reason they _hadn't_ tore at each other's throats was because Hermione was always there trying to keep the peace. He abided like always, and strangely enough, so did Tom. But, without Hermione, there was no one keeping them at bay from each other and instead of fighting, they both silently decided to simply ignore one another. If they didn't see each other, apart from their meals, then there was nothing that could escalate between the two.

Harry _hated_ it. However, he knew that it was because of him that there was the rift between the two. He needed to get his act together in order to please Tom. Because, in the end, he would always have Tom. Those other students at Hogwarts were just classmates. Not family, not like Tom was. The last thing Harry wanted, _ever_ , was for Tom to feel that he was alone.

He had made this bed, now he had to lay in it.

* * *

"She's getting too big," Harry broke the silence.

There was only so much he could take of the quiet that hung over the two of them. For the past five minutes he had stood by, silently, and watched as Tom began to position Nagini inside of his trunk.

"You think so?" Tom countered, not looking at him but continuing to stuff notebook after notebook into his trunk. Harry's brow furrowed. He knew that those notebooks contained all of the papers he had saw strewn across Tom's floor. Despite hoping that Tom would have told him what the papers were, his brother had stayed silent and never brought them up. For all Harry knew, it could have been simple school work. But, Tom wasn't the kind of person to keep around that kind of...junk. Not when he could probably recite it from the top of his head by memorization. There was just something...possessive that overtook his brother whenever those notebooks were around. As if those mere books were his entire world.

Harry sighed. "There's only a matter of time before someone sees her," he continued. "And when that happens, don't you think you'll get into trouble? Snakes aren't permitted at Hogwarts, remember?"

Tom didn't falter. "Of course I remember," he answered. All of his responses were clipped, much to Harry's annoyance.

"Well, don't you think she should stay here instead? Better yet, maybe enjoy the wild…" his voice trailed off as Tom's gaze flashed towards him in warning.

"Nagini will go wherever I do," Tom finalized. He was still shuffling around his bedroom, retrieving his items before packing them away in his trunk. It didn't take too long, considering the two of them only had a few personal items that they claimed as their own. However, when Tom reached behind his pillows, Harry's gaze lit up in recognition.

"Isn't that Hermione's?"

Tom's hand spasmed across the cover. It was brief, almost faster than his mind could register, but Harry had seen it nonetheless.

He watched Tom as he placed the book with a gentleness that had Harry's brows raising.

"When did she give it to you?" he couldn't help but ask. He tried to ignore the pang of jealousy, but since _when_ were Tom and Hermione on a gift-giving level?

Tom turned to look at him from over his shoulder, those dark eyes glinting. "Why must you ask so many questions?"

"Why aren't you answering them?"

Tom considered him for a moment, before shrugging. "We're leaving for Hogwarts today," he spoke. "I haven't finished packing. The last thing I need right now is to be distracted by your questions."

"You should have been packed yesterday."

"Is that so?" Tom raised a brow. "Then tell me, brother, why weren't _you_ packed?" he finished, just as he snapped the latches of his trunk shut. "Why must I pack a day earlier, if you do not?"

Harry grinned. So that's how Tom wanted to play? Was Tom trying to teach him a lesson? Harry crossed his arms. "Aren't _you_ the one who is always telling me that I'm irresponsible? Since when do you act the same?"

"I don't," Tom replied. He turned around and mimicked Harry by crossing his own arms. "But do you see how utterly _frustrating_ it is when someone willingly acts negligent?"

"Is this your way of teaching me some half-arsed lesson?"

"Is it working?"

"No."

Tom narrowed his eyes and raised his brows skeptically. "Are you sure?"

Of course it was bloody working! He huffed in annoyance, rolling his eyes as he stepped towards Tom's door. "The Knight Bus should be arriving any minute. I'll meet you downstairs."

Harry left without getting a glimpse of the smirk that had blossomed onto Tom's face.

* * *

When school started, it was laughable at how easy wizarding records were accessible. If you had a name- a mere _name_ \- you could trace lineages, generation after generation dating back to the very founders of the Wizarding world. The problem, however, was that he didn't _have_ an entire name. He had scourged through the records for the surname of 'Riddle' but, as he had suspected, there was nothing. There had never been a wizard or witch by the last name of Riddle. It was nothing but a muggle moniker. So, that left him with one small piece of information. _Marvolo_ ; the name of his mother's father. His grandfather.

It was so strange that one week ago, he had known none of them, and now, he had a mother, father, grandfather even. Yet, even though he knew of them, he had never felt more lost. There were too many names that he couldn't place faces to. It made him cringe at the idea that he could have cousins that ran through the halls of Hogwarts. _As if he'd consider those imbeciles._ He was better off being Tom Riddle, the familess orphan.

But he remained persistent. He may not have given a damn about relatives that his family tree may reveal, however, he cared about only one. The most important one above all.

It had taken him weeks of painstaking research through old books of Wizarding families until he had finally- finally - found the existence of Slytherin's surviving line. It may have happened sooner but he had his life to live. He had to still pretend to be interested in his studies. He had to continue meeting with Slughorn during his private lessons. Every afternoon he met with Hermione and surprisingly enough, Harry too. He had initially wanted to include both of them, well...Hermione, at least, but he wanted to be absolutely sure. He wouldn't dare embarrass himself or his research capabilities in front of her. No, he wouldn't dare do that.

He had waited until he was absolutely sure, with no possibility of being wrong. He had traced Slytherin's line until he found what he needed. The sole remaining heirs of Salazar Slytherin belonged to the House of Gaunt, a dominant pureblood family that was part of the powerful, noble, Sacred Twenty-Eight- the royalty of the Wizarding World.

As soon as he found the Gaunt lineage, the puzzle pieces began to fall in place rapidly. Marvolo Gaunt, his grandfather, was the father of two children- Morfin and Merope. Going off of the records, it showed that Marvolo had died nearly a decade ago, but Morfin was the sole beneficiary of Gaunt Manor and the family vaults. His mother, however, owned nothing. It wasn't hard to find out why either. Less than a year before his birth, all record of Merope Gaunt vanished into thin air. He didn't need to speculate why that was. The woman- his _mother-_ had run off with a muggle man - his father - and together, made _him_.

The realization hit him harder than anything before. Part of him felt sick that he was related to such a vile lineage but there was no denying that it all made sense. In morbid fascination, he had never felt more _whole_ than he did now. It was all so _clear_ now.

He was a half-blood. It didn't make him feel any different. He had always thought blood status' were a load of shite anyways. It made no difference to him if suddenly one of his parents were magical. He had grown up without a world of magic, had only known of it for the past few years. When he had needed the magical world the most, he hadn't had it because it, like his parents, had abandoned him. He didn't need the comfort of a new, _better_ blood status. He had crafted his way without it, and the last thing he needed to do was change because of it.

He didn't need a blood status to make him powerful, but he wasn't ignorant to deny that being the Heir of Slytherin was going to give him a substantial boost in the Wizarding World. Those purebloods would fall at his feet, _willingly_ , despite his halfblood status. They would obey his every command and he wouldn't have to break a sweat in doing so. All they considered important was that _he_ was the sole heir of Salazar Slytherin.

He, and only he, would be the one to open the Chamber of Secrets.

He, and only _he_ , would be able to control the beast within.

And that, made him feel like the most powerful wizard alive.

* * *

" _Find it_ ," Tom hissed. His hand was stroking the top of Nagini's scaled head affectionately, her yellow gaze lapping up each word he spoke to her. The rest of his housemates were fast asleep, but he still charmed his curtains shut and silenced. It was far too dark in their dorm but the faint light glimmered off of Nagini's beady eyes, glittering through the darkness.

" _Search high and low...stay hidden...come to me before morning,"_ he commanded. He wasn't going to risk the safety of his pet. She was far too valuable. If anyone were to catch a glimpse of her, he knew they would end her by any means possible, even if were a professor. Her death would be quick and effortless on their behalf. She had no wand to protect herself like he did. He wondered if he would be able to change that, to make her just as strong as he was...just as Slytherin had done with his own snake.

He sent her on her way with a nod of his head, his fingers trailing down her spine as she slithered across the bed and out of his sight. If anyone was going to find the chamber, it would be her. She was his most trusted friend, his sweet pet.

Tom waved his wand, quietly reopening the curtains of his bed. He casted a glance at his other housemates and unsurprisingly found them all fast asleep. It was deep into the night hours, only a few away until the sun would begin to arise. Not that it mattered. From their dorms in the dungeons, below the Black Lake, the early rays of the sun never shown through the portholes. The only thing that signified a new day had begun, was that the water turned from inky black to a greenish glow. He knew that in the other common rooms, the sun probably shined as brightly as a thousand lumos'. He couldn't imagine any of the other houses being able to live in the shadows, all needing to live and prosper in the sun like any normal warm blooded animal. He tried to picture how Hermione or even Harry would look like with a green hue reflect off of their skin, tucked away into the cold Slytherin common room, but he found that he couldn't. Perhaps they didn't belong down here, just like he didn't belong up there. The thought of having to bake in the fires of the towers made him grimace.

No, this was where he belonged. Afterall, Salazar's blood ran through his veins. He wondered if the Sorting Hat had knew of his bloodline before it sorted him. Had he even had a chance of being sorted elsewhere? The possibility of a descendant of Salazar Slytherin in Gryffindor must have turned the man in his grave. As if the man wasn't _already_ ashamed of the complete failure he must appear to him as. A _halfblood_ , a mere _orphan_ from the Muggle world, surrounded by everyone except for those purebloods that Slytherin had been so adamant of their superiority. Slytherin must have thought that Tom's own life was his own personal hell. It made Tom feel so damn _good_. All of Slytherin's hatred- all of his worst nightmares- thrown into the form of his remaining heir. Karma had never been more cruel.

But as much as it made Tom relish in the thought of Slytherin's misery, he didn't get comfortable with it. Although the chances were slim to none, Tom didn't dismiss the possibility that he could be wrong. He wasn't going to accept his bloodline until he was absolutely sure. And, as far as he knew, there was only one way to end all of his speculation.

He would have to open the Chamber of Secrets.

* * *

 **Author's Note: I know there's alot of Tom POV but it won't last forever, I promise. There wasn't much Tomione interaction in this chapter, but be patient. Only a few more chapters until it will become hot and heavy just like we all love so much.**


	16. Chapter 16

**I just want to take a quick moment and thank all of you who read this and leave a few words in return. They mean so much to me and I hope you all are continuing to love this story just as much as I do.**

Chapter 16:

The ground was hard beneath his touch; scraping and tearing into his flesh the longer he stayed down. Tom was reaching for anything to give him the support his body was relying on for survival, but the surface was jagged, with uneven dips and peaks that made it impossible to manage. He tried to pull himself away, to push himself up but his limbs were weak and trembled with each ounce of effort he gave. His elbows and knees cried out in protest at every attempt, the slightest weight unbearable to withstand.

As he crawled along the floor, he found that he couldn't see anything. It was dark, the blackest night to ever possess the earth, devoid of any signs of life. The sky was an empty pit, not the moon or any star in sight. The rocks that shifted beneath his body were deep blue but darkened into onyx jewels as his blood sunk into the ground, leaving a morbid trail in his wake. All he could make out was the pale skin of his hands as he gripped the terrain, but that too was becoming stained with the inky fluid that gushed from his wounds.

There was so much of it that he feared he would drown if he remained in one spot for too long. He knew he was dying. The amount of blood leaking from his body was leaving him too quickly and as he continued to fight, pushing himself away from his attacker inch by inch, his vision blurred with each breath. It was all the tale tell signs that death was quickly approaching, faster and more brutal than he had ever expected.

He could hear the stones shift underneath his assailant's footsteps. For each pull that Tom gave, the man gained triple the amount with each stride he took. He was so close now… close enough that Tom could make out each breath the man took, could see the fog fill the frosted air.

"Look at you," the man sneered. A foot nudged hard into his shoulder, flipping him onto his back.

He groaned loudly as his body processed the new position. The rocks poked at his flesh without remorse. His breathing was becoming more labored and shallow that left only small puffs into night. His vision desperately tried to focus on anything but the muscles were useless. Tom's dark eyes could only stare at the abyss above him.

This wasn't how he imagined it. Death. He didn't see his life flash before him, he didn't see that glorious white light...all he saw was darkness- a black hole of what was supposed to be life. **His** life. It was supposed to be peaceful, tranquil even, but all he could render was the overwhelming hatred that he felt. It coursed through him like fire, igniting him from head to toe.

He had lost everyone.

Harry had been the first to go down. The man had thrown the Killing Curse towards his brother without hesitation. The green light that was identical to Harry's iris' consumed him whole, the broken spectacles askew on Harry's pale face.

The cry of anguish that had escaped Tom's lips hadn't gone unnoticed. The grinning man had spun towards him in the blink of an eye. "Don't worry, my heir," he spat the word as if it was a sin, "we're just getting started."

He shook his head frantically as the man advanced to the next individual. With thick tears rolling down his face, Tom had begged, chanting 'no' over and over and over again but Slytherin ignored all of it. Tom thrashed violently against the invisible binds that held him in place and watched helplessly as the man wound his hand through Hermione's hair. The older wizard had tilted her head back, exposing her pale neck, as he trailed the tip of his wand against the side of her face.

"Such a pretty little thing you've got," the words were spoken with a sneer. "My halfblood heir's Mudblood." Blazing green eyes, locked onto Tom's. "No," the man hissed. "I won't stand for it."

Tom watched in horror when Slytherin pulled a dagger from within his robes.

"You will embarrass me no longer!"

"NO!" he bellowed.

Tom's breath had lodged in his throat when Hermione had crumpled to the ground. Her bright brown eyes, once full of life and promise for so much more to come, faded right before his eyes. She, like Harry, remained motionless against the stones, bloodied and beaten because of **him**.

Tom had screamed at the top of his lungs mourning for the two he had cherished above all others. He had screamed at the loss of their futures together. He had screamed at the foreign ache that was eroding him from the inside, breaking him down piece by piece.

They were gone.

He had nothing anymore. In a cruel twist of fate, he was all alone once more.

The black sky above him reflected what was inside. It was the mirror to his soul.

He could see Slytherin's face sneering down at him, fuzzy and unfocused but it was a face that Tom would never forget, even in his death. He hated the man more than anything. Pure, unselfish loathing was what willed his heart to beat. His bloodied and bruised body depended on that hate now.

Tom barely registered the wand that Slytherin pointed down at him. "You think you will be anything in your world? You are a taint of my name and nothing more. No one will remember you as **I** do. You are _nothing_... _nothing_... _nothing…_ "

Tom's head lulled to the side. Harry and Hermione were only a yard from him, so close yet so painfully far. Both deserved so much more. Even in their death he was still going to fail them. Their murderer stood before him yet he could do nothing. His wand had been snapped, discarded and thrown off into the shadows, leaving him weaponless. He wanted to revenge their death but he couldn't. He was too _weak_.

The darkness was tunneling his vision. Slytherin's sneering face was shrinking within his gaze, the edges of his vision blurring into nothingness. _This was it_. He had failed.

Salazar Slytherin lifted his wand. "They would have been _better_ without you. They would have lived if it weren't for you. You are _poison…_ Just. Like. Me."

The man's glare hardened. The last thing Tom saw was the vigor slash of the man's wand as it aimed upon his face. "Avada Kedavra!"

* * *

Tom lurched forward in his bed with a noiseless gasp, his mouth open and chest heaving as he struggled to take a breath. He was covered in a sheen of glistening sweat that made his clothes and hair damp against his skin. The blood rushing in his veins was loud in his skull like white static. His frantic gaze shot to his hands that were clenched tightly around his sheets and noted that they were unscratched and clean, not a drop or smear of blood and dirt in sight. His body no screamed in pain but every muscle was locked in place, tense like rubber bands that were on the verge of snapping in half. With shaking limbs, he placed a hand on his chest to calm his stuttering heartbeat. The violent staccato pounded against his ribs with the beat of a hummingbird's wings, almost unnaturally possible for that of a human being.

He forced himself to take several deep breaths.

 _In and out._

 _In and out._

 _In and out._

Until finally, the pounding in his chest subsided; the noise went quiet within his head; his breathing no longer laboured.

His eyes closed in relief. He was in bed, _his_ bed. It had all been a dream, a cruel figment of his imagination. Nothing more than a nightmare.

Tom ran his hands through his hair, grimacing as he felt just how soaked his hair was, and glanced at the clock on his bedside table. He stifled a groan. It was only five in the morning, far from time to start waking up for breakfast and too early for Nagini to return. He should have turned right back into his pillows but he knew that sleep wasn't going to find him again. The dream was still far too… fresh in his mind. Sleep would evade him even if he desperately tried for it. No, sleep was the last thing he wanted.

With no other choice, Tom pushed himself from out of his covers and left the confinements of his dorm.

* * *

"Do you think Tom's been...off lately?" Harry asked, turning his head to stare at the witch beside him.

They were sitting side by side on one of the couches in the common room, and she, more than he, was enjoying the silence that had befallen them after Ron and many of the other students left. With spring beginning to drift into the summer's heat, it was far too warm to light the tower fire anymore and strangely, Harry missed the low roars of the flames. For him, it was far _too_ quiet because with the overwhelming silence, it allowed his mind to linger on his troubling thoughts, which ultimately, like always, surrounded the actions of his brother.

Hermione glanced up from her book, one of her brows raised questioningly. "Off?" she repeated. With his nod of confirmation, she scrunched her face in concentration until she shook her head from side to side. "No, not that I can recall. He seemed fine to me."

That was precisely the problem. Tom was never just _fine_. He was a complex individual, showing no emotion but allowing it to fester beneath his skin like a parasite. Tom showed only what he wanted others to see. If he wanted everyone to think he was _fine_ , then Harry knew that he definitely was not. He had figured out Tom's behaviors long ago.

Nonetheless Harry nodded his head in acceptance at Hermione's words. She didn't see past Tom's exterior yet and in all honesty, he didn't know if she ever would. The two were the opposites of each other; his brother shielded himself from everyone, cursing the world and anyone who had ever done him wrong while Hermione opened herself up to those in need and chose to see the best in people even if they were rotten through and through. It was because of their differences that he knew Hermione was just too… pure, in a sense, to see the monsters that toyed with his brother. She would never understand what he and Tom and went through as orphans but he would never hold that against her. He knew that she had come from a background that he and Tom had dreamt of as children- a well off family, parents that adored her, given whatever she wanted, a _home_ to thrive in. It was no wonder why she was the way she was. She had never faced a hardship in her life. She simply didn't _see_ the world the way Tom did- heck, Harry felt that even _he_ didn't and he was supposed to be the person that knew Tom the best.

"Why do you ask?" Hermione's voice snapped him from his silent reverie.

He glanced at her, noting her curious stare. He shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know...It's just that he seems different, like even though he's _here_ , he… isn't. It's as if his mind wanders off."

"Have you tried talking to him about it?"

He gave her a look. "What would I say? You know he hates when people pry and the last thing I want to do is make things worse between us. We still haven't fully recovered from our… dispute at the beginning of the year."

She shifted uncomfortably, looking away from him. Harry, however, could read her response without her saying a single word. She was on Tom's side, not his. She had agreed with his brother's holy opinion about him spending his time elsewhere and he wouldn't lie to admit that it stung. He had expected her disapproval, Tom's too, but he would have never thought that it would bring the two... closer. The thought alone was disturbing.

But it was through the newly forged friendship that made Harry realize a more jarring truth. Despite coming from two different worlds, Hermione and Tom were also one of the same. They were driven by their knowledge. They put their studies above everything, much to Harry's annoyance. They wouldn't know what fun was even if it fell at their feet.

His pushed the thought out of his mind and went for something more interesting, something that he hadn't been able to shake for weeks. "Why didn't you tell me you gave Tom one of your books?" he shot out, no longer being able to contain himself. He knew how much she valued her belongings but her books were sacred to her, her most beloved possessions.

He watched her for several long moments as she stayed silent.

"I don't know," she softly bagan. Something about her tone made him believe otherwise. "I didn't think it was a big deal at the time."

"And now?" he pressed on.

Her honey gaze shot towards him, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you regret giving it to him? I can get it back if you want."

She laughed, her faint giggles flying between them. "Harry, I _gave_ it to him. Besides, it would be rude to take it back."

Harry leaned back into the sofa as his mind processed her words. It surprised him how easily she had disposed of the book and didn't have the care in the world if Tom took care of it or not. For all she knew, Tom could have torn it to shreds. She asked no question, had no concern, and it puzzled him more than he wanted to admit.

He frowned. "You know, you've never given Ron anything."

"And?" Hermione asked with narrowed eyes. "When I want to give _Ronald_ something then I will."

"Ron's our friend-"

"No," she drawled out. "He's _your_ friend. He cannot stand me, and I must admit that the feeling is quite mutual on my part as well."

Their redheaded friend was always a sore subject when it came to her. Unlike Tom and Hermione, _Ron_ and Hermione were oil and water. There was no mixing between the two without some catastrophic explosion. It was a good day if the two shared a few civil sentences with each other. It was always a waiting game with the two, holding his breath until one snapped and snarled at the other. He never had to wait for long. Ron, and perhaps Malfoy, were the only two people in the entire school that Hermione had no problem showing her disdain towards. Although, now that he thought about it, Malfoy hadn't spoken to either of them for quite some time. His frown deepened and he released a heavy sigh.

"You've never given him a chance. How could you get on good terms with my brother yet despise someone like Ron? It makes no sense, Hermione." _That_ was perhaps what he couldn't understand.

She shook her head in exasperation, reaching up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. "You act like Tom is the worse as they come," she replied. "Honestly, Harry, he's not a bad person. If I didn't know any better I would say…"

His brows furrowed as her voice trailed off. "You would say what?" he pressed.

Hermione's face fell as she looked at him. "I would say that it was as if you were bothered with the fact that I consider Tom a friend."

The admission stunned him into silence. Had he really given her that impression? Merlin that was the last thing that he had ever intended. He was actually pleased that it had all worked out as it had. He remembered the panic he had felt as a first year when he had thought he would have to split his time between the two; thinking he had to hide his relationship with her from Tom. Back then Tom had the mindset of standing by themselves, not needing anyone or anything else to better themselves in the Wizarding World. Now it was all different. He wasn't blind to the relationships his brother had forged. He saw Tom glide through the corridors with Warrington and Montague, and Bletchley, even going as far as being polite to the other students that he saw worthy of his attention. He saw the way Tom acted around Hermione, extending a fraction of the pleasantries towards Justin or Neville if they were around. So much had changed since them but did he want it to end? Did he?

" _Does_ it bother you Harry?" she asked again. "I want the truth." She was no longer relaxed into the cushions of the couch and instead sat straight, spine at a perfect vertical angle coiled tight in rigidity. He knew she feared the answer he would provide, and that killed him.

The truth was staring at him right in the face. No, he didn't want anything to change. The friendship between Hermione and Tom had been a shock in its own, but he wouldn't dare disrupt it. He would never have the audacity to take something that important from Tom. He had no doubt that if told her yes, she would drop Tom in a heartbeat. Although she may have had a similar mindset like his brother, he knew she valued his friendship more. They were best friends- he and Hermione, not Hermione and Tom. It was a truth that he relied on more than he realized.

He sighed, staring straight into Hermione's gaze. There was an emotion there that he couldn't place, brewing brightly in her golden orbs. He grabbed her hand tightly between his own and grinned, "It doesn't bother me, I promise."

It took a brief moment until Hermione relaxed again, easing her way back into the confines of their seat and placing her head on his shoulder. "You better not be lying to me, Harry James Potter, because if you are, I will maim _and_ mangle you," she smiled back at him.

He chuckled. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

* * *

"You're here early," Tom said with a tilt of his lips, and watching as her head of voluptuous curls looked up at him. It was far from the time they usually met up but he had planned to use the privacy to go over his notes on his lineage and the Chamber. Usually, the time just before lunch was the best chance to go to the library without having to worry about prying eyes or curious individuals. He hadn't anticipated Hermione being there but it didn't bother him that she was. Her presence always had a strong calming effect on him, something that no one had ever managed to achieve before.

She smiled back at him as he seated himself beside her. "I'm trying to finish this essay for Professor Snape," she sighed.

"Oh?" he raised a brow. "What's the subject of your topic?"

Hermione reclined in her chair, setting her quill down without a second thought. "The differences and similarities between the Verdimillious Duo and the Vermillious Duo," she answered. "Nothing hard, it's just taking more time than I thought it would."

"When is it due?"

"Three weeks time," she said, a faint blush tainting her cheeks. He knew it was a habit of hers already. Her body had learned the beginning signs of the endless taunts of her classmates and by now she couldn't control her reactions anymore even when she knew that she would receive no ridicule from him. If he were being honest with himself, he particularly… enjoyed those flashes of embarrassment.

"Perfect timing then," he responded. Tom flashed his teeth at her in a smile and moved his arms to dig into his bag, pulling out one of his journals and the book he had shrunk inside. As he did so, he made sure to stroke the top of Nagini's head as he closed it back up. Originally, he had planned to converse with Nagini to fill the silence but with Hermione there, Nagini was going to stay hidden away and out of sight. It wasn't time just yet.

He knew the moment he put the book on the table that she recognized it. It had been one that she had written down on the list he had found inside her book.

Her eyes shot up to his, wide and in disbelief. "You're still looking into it?" she hissed, leaning towards him so that her voice wouldn't travel.

"I told you that I would find it," he replied in a whisper, turning his head to face her. With a start, he realized just how close they were to each other. Their faces were only inches apart. He could count the faint freckles across her nose, could see the golden flecks burning in their her liquid amber orbs, could _feel_ each of her breaths fan gently against his face. Her warmth tingled against his neck and hands, seeping beneath his robes the longer he stayed in her proximity. He didn't want it to end. _Ever_.

However, just as time began to melt between them, she inhaled sharply.

Tom swallowed heavily as she pulled away.

"Why-" she shook her head softly as she stared at him. Her brows furrowed, "It goes against your self preservation morals of being a Slytherin, don't you think?"

He closed the space again, leaning over to take over the position she had previously occupied. When she tensed, he ignored it. "What if the creature doesn't really kill Muggleborns?" he spoke. "What if it's nothing more than some tall tale to keep the Muggleborn population frightened?"

"I think you would be insane to go off of the logic of 'what if'. We're talking about a magical creature, Tom. One that is said to _feed_ off of our kind."

He tilted his head, "But we don't know that for certain."

"We don't even know if the Chamber exists," she pointed out. He had to restrain himself from spilling the truth right then and there. The words were on the tip of his head. He knew, without a doubt, that the Chamber resided within the castle. It was here, somewhere, he just needed to find it. Nagini was _close_ , he knew it. He _felt_ it. She, however, didn't.

"Even the professors have no idea about its location and they are the ones who are supposed to know everything about this school."

A flash of panic coarsed through him. "You've asked the professors?" he bit out. Tom was careful to not snap at her, keeping his voice as collected as he could.

She frowned, his eyes drawn to the movement. "Well...I only asked one."

His shoulders sagged in relief. He didn't need to ask which professor that was, for he already knew. McGonagall. The old woman was her absolute favorite. Tom didn't care for her too much but she was perhaps the only professor that didn't have a bias against the Slytherins. She treated each and every single one of her students the same… although, it was quite obvious to the entire school that Hermione was her pride and joy. He didn't need to ponder why.

"And if _she_ doesn't know, then I doubt anyone else does."

Tom nodded in understanding. Everyone knew how close Dumbledore and McGonagall were so it only made sense that if the Headmaster knew, then so would the professor. Then again, the old bat could have lied to Hermione… but lying wasn't something Gryffindor's did proudly nor would the elder woman keep knowledge from her precious student.

"Then what do you think?" his hand twitched to grab her, to bring her closer and feel her like minutes before, but instead, he clenched his fists. "Is it all just some made up legend to terrorize us?"

He eyed her heavily. He could see how frustrated she was with the subject, it being a puzzle that she couldn't solve and it was driving her crazy- an itch she couldn't scratch no matter how irritating it was against her porcelain skin. He recognized the pure desperation, it being a look he had found on his own face for months now. It had consumed him, turned him into a machine set into overdrive as he thumbed book after book, scanned sentence after sentence and family trees until his eyes bled. This had to be a first for her. He could see it in the hard set of her face; the way her nose was scrunched slightly, the soft flush that tainted her cheeks. It was glorious to see her like that, unsure and unconfident. He sucked in a deep breath as something twitched deep within his abdomen.

"I… I don't know," she sighed. "It seems a bit pointless to make something like that up unless it were to actually exist, don't you think?"

Tom nodded in agreement, slowly tapping his fingers against the journal in front of him. A strong part of him felt guilty that he was keeping his discoveries from her, knowing that information such as what he had found was momentous for someone like them- for all wizards and witches within England- and to willingly keep it from her tugged at his conscious. He valued her too much to keep his secrets tucked away and left for only him to know. Then again, what was a secret if more than one person knew? Did it stay _his_?

 _Or…_ was he supposed to tell the world, screaming it from the tallest towers at the top of his lungs, and let them digest the news for themselves? There would be those that recoiled in revulsion at such a proclamation, thinking he wouldn't be worthy of such an honor.

 _Honor_ , he mentally sneered at the word. Tom felt no such thing. There was nothing honorable about being related to that… that monster. Vivid flashes of his nightmare splashed within his skull; the screams, the blood, his _agony_. Tom clenched his jaw, his hands fisting into themselves. But just as quickly as his body tensed, he forced himself to relax. It had only been a dream. Nothing more, nothing less.

He forced a grin onto his face and brought his gaze up to meet Hermione's. "I couldn't agree more."

He'd tell her eventually, Harry too. It was only a matter of time. He could feel it in his bones how close he was. It wouldn't be long until they _all_ knew the power that he possessed.

Soon, they would all be kneeling at his feet. They would have no choice.

* * *

It was dead in the night when Tom felt a pressure drift over his wrist. His eyes were open in an instant, his fingers wrapped tightly around his wand as he sat up. He was ready to spit fire, curse hot on his tongue, but as his eyes registered the yellow serpentine stare and the scales that glided over his flesh, he dropped his wand. His gaze flashed towards the clock and frowned as he read the time. Nagini shouldn't've been back already. She had hours left until sunrise and in that time, he had ordered her to her job.

" _What's wrong_?" he hissed.

" _I have done as you said,"_ her tongue flicked out with each few words. " _I found it_."

Tom inhaled sharply. In less than a heartbeat, he was out of his bed. In one hand was his wand and the other plucked Nagini up from the bed, flexing his forearm as she began to coil tightly around. He wasted no time getting his robe, nor his shoes and flew from the dormitory in the blink of an eye.

* * *

The stone floor was cold beneath Tom's feet. At night it never mattered how warm the days were, because once the sun set, there was always a strong chill that held the castle in its iron grip. He could have cast a warming charm, with a simple flick of his wand, but the matter seemed so insignificant at the moment. He was on the brisk of breaking history, moments away from proving his bloodline and securing his position as the heir of Slytherin.

The cold was, by far, the _last_ thing on his mind.

His gaze darted from side to side as Nagini led him further into the halls, his ears sharp as they listened for the slightest noise to signal someone was approaching. He had not lit a lumos yet, in fear that it would wake the portraits, and instead chose to trust Nagini's eyesight. She knew where she was going, while _he_ did not.

He held his left hand in front of him, the arm that Nagini was wrapped around, and felt as she turned her head to the side, indicating which way for him to turn. It stayed that way for a while as she turned her head this way and that, flicking upward for him to take the staircase until he stood before a dark and corridor. He had been through here before and knew that only abandoned classrooms were hidden behind the few doors the hall held.

Tom's jaw clenched as he glared at the dead end. There was nothing there, just a stone wall that mocked him from where it stood.

" _Closer…_ "

His gaze snapped down to his reptilian pet. Her head was held high, leaning forward as she beckoned him to keep going. Those yellow orbs glowed as if she were looking at something he couldn't see.

Tom's brows furrowed and slowly, his eyes flickered back to the wall. _Could it be... ?_

He stepped forward, with steady steps as he stared at the wall. There was nothing special about it, a wall with cobblestone bricks and nothing more. It was perfect, he realized. If this was it, it was no wonder he could never find it. He had scounged the entire castle, not a single room left unturned.

" _This is it_ …" Nagini spoke, her head coming up to look at him.

He considered her briefly before reaching out with the hand that held his wand. He pressed against the stones and paused, waiting and watching for it to slide away, to show him something- _anything_. When the wall didn't budge, he pressed again and again, sliding his hand over the bricks to feel for a clue, to find what would finally show him what he had been after for so long. But still, nothing. He growled in frustration and without thinking, Tom punched it, immediately feeling his knuckles scream at the contact. On his other arm, Nagini tightened her hold.

" _You must speak… our language… to open the door…"_

Of course. He should have known. If Salazar wanted his chamber to open only for his descendants- his heirs - then it only made sense that Parseltongue was the key.

His gaze turned towards the wall once more. Suddenly, he he no longer felt confident. Beyond that wall lied a creature that Salazar Slytherin had intended to consume Muggleborns. The list of possibilities were endless- an acromantula, ghouls, a chimaera, graphorn, lethifold, manticore. For weeks he had tried to picture what he would come face to face with, thinking of spells he would be able to use just in case things turned for the worse. He had felt as if he were prepared but now… Was he? Was he ready to fight for his life if need be?

Tom took a deep, reassuring breath, closing his eyes as he gathered his thoughts. _He was the heir of Slytherin_ , he repeated over and over. Whatever was in that chamber, he would be able to control it, to command it and make it do his every wish. It would attack if he said so. It would _kill_ if he told it too.

His glare hardened and without hesitation, he raised his hand that still clutched his wand and held it out in front of him.

With a heavy exhale, he spoke the language that he never learned, " _Open_ ," he hissed. " _Reveal to me the chamber of my ancestor_."

With bated breath, he stared unblinkingly at the stones. The blood was pounding loudly throughout his body that it was all he could hear. Unconsciously, his left arm brought Nagini closer to his body while his other began to straighten, pointing his wand and aiming his wand at the wall. The seconds began to silently pass, and for a brief moment, Tom began to think Nagini had been wrong- that perhaps, this wall was just a wall.

 _No_ , he mentally scolded himself. She was never wrong.

And then it happened.

His eyes widened as the stone wall shifted before him. Piece by piece the stones disappeared from his view, appearing to shuffle behind one another until it revealed to him a grand, circular door made of metal. His lips parted in shock as he stared at the round door. It was larger than him, towering inches from the ceiling all the way to the floor beneath his feet. Engraved in the slab were seven snakes, their heads all pointed in different angles but their bodies were side by side. The sight was breathtaking to behold.

He took a step forward, his wand still at the ready, and just as he was a hair's width away from brushing his fingertips against the metallic stone, the snakes began to shift. An eighth snake appeared, and began to circle around the others. One by one, each head of the original seven drew back to make way for the newest member. He had stared in awe as each one clicked into place until finally, the snake had completed its circle.

A deep, hollow click broke the silence of the night. The grip on his wand tightened.

With an old groan, the door began to open forward. As he stood motionless, watching as the entrance widened second after second, until a strong gust of wind billowed into him, sending his hair and robes flying. His eyes had closed at the rushed current but just as fast as it had occurred, it stopped. Tom's gaze flew open and narrowed instantaneously, trying and failing to see inside the black abyss. He didn't dare turn away even as Nagini stretched in his arm, ushering him to continue forward. He refused to tear his attention away. He _couldn't_.

Tom took another step forward, then another, and another, until his toes tethered dangerously along the find line that seperated the familiar cobblestone path and the thick sheet of darkness.

This is what he had wanted for so long. This is what had driven him into insanity day after night this entire year. This was _his_. He wouldn't give up now that he had gotten this far. This Chamber was his now, Salazar Slytherin be damned.

Tom took a deep breath and strided forward, further into the darkness and leaving the light behind.

 **OOOOOOO**

 **Ending Note: So Tom's 4th year will be ending in the next chapter and from there, I'm thinking it's time to bump up the romance. Harry and Hermione will barely be entering their 3rd year so naturally, any interaction between her and Tom will have to be somewhat gentle in the beginning. I hope you are all ready!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Sorry for the absence but honestly, I have written a shitload of chapters for this story. Leave it to me to be so unorthodox and actually write the ending chapters before actually getting there! And *warning* I actually cried writing the very last chapter! I am so excited to get back to updating the middle parts because this story holds a very dear place in my heart and it isn't as if I can jump straight to the end. I did time hop a bit for this chapter but honestly it would have been a few filler chapters anyways if I hadn't. And besides, I needed to time hop a bit because I want some tomione already even though I have to ease into it and not go full relationship mode.**

 **Following this, this story is so fucking dark in the next few years to come. It will not be all sunshine and daisies and I cannot heed this enough. Anyways, ignore my babbling because here is the next chapter!**

Chapter 17:

 _2 years later…_

Tom stared hard at his reflection in the mirror, his hands clenched tightly along both sides of the cheap basin's edge as he continued to bore his dark eyes into the glass surface. He stared for a long time; seconds soundlessly ticking by until they morphed into minutes, yet he still kept his gaze glued forward, heavy and harsh and _searching_. Always searching.

It was a face he had seen his entire life; pale white skin that was translucent enough that he could see the vinework of verdigris veins that he could trace if he wanted to, his blue-black eyes that shined like obsidian, a head of black hair that curled at the tips and laid methodically across his forehead in faint waves.

It was _him_.

Yet, it wasn't.

Cheeks and a jaw that had once been curved with childhood were now sharp and angled. His shoulders, that had always been narrow were now broad, adorned by arms that had been too thin at one time and now rippled perfectly with toned muscles. Even the smooth panels of his stomach had now hardened with age as his body grew and stretched towards the sky without any restraint.

The person he stared at was no boy.

 _He_ was no longer a child. Tom was already on his way walking along the paved road of young adulthood that held so many expectations and demanded his full attention.

Tom was at the ripened age of 16, soon to be 17, and easily towered over any other child or adult at the orphanage. Bones covered in thin layers of flesh and muscles had swelled without him knowing and it left him in a body that refused to allow him to ignore the obvious: he had _grown_ up.

His throat became dry and scratchy at the thought. It was difficult to swallow. But Tom stayed unmoved, still staring at himself with unblinking eyes.

He would be returning to Hogwarts for his sixth year and it would not be long until he would graduate and be forced from the main doors without a second of hesitation, just as all the students were. He would be thrown into the real world without a care and expected to simply become like the _rest_. He would have nowhere to go; no family, no school, no _orphanage_.

Not that he cared about the last part. As soon as Harry was out, he planned on returning and watching the building crumble into nothing but a pile of smothering ash, with one mere hand sticking out from the rubble that's fingers were charred and burnt and broken, small slices of flesh split open and revealing the pink tissues. Nothing else would remain of _her_ , or that wretched building.

School, however, would not be something he could burn down.

There was _something_ there, he knew. Perhaps memories, or what it represented, or even how it had become his home, offering him an entire world he had always longed for and given to him with a welcoming that had been warm and light even when all he had ever known was the harsh reality of the muggle world.

He had been- _was-_ a familess orphaned boy that had grown in the wizarding world with nothing more than his belongings stuffed away in his trunk and the secret bloodline that coursed through his veins. He wasn't a rich pureblood that dominated society with his every word or action. Unlike them, no one would listen to him once he left the safety of Hogwarts.

His name _meant nothing._

It would remain etched in gold on the ever growing plaque that listed every prefect in Hogwarts history, and it would be neatly scrawled on Slughorn's list of Slug Club members but apart from that, what would remain of him?

His professors would remember him, but that would fade as soon as they died off. His classmates may remember who he was- the charming, polite Tom Riddle - but they didn't _know_ him and it wasn't plausible that they would carry on his name into the next generations. If he were lucky, the Bloody Baron may remember his face for the next century or two, but would he desperately- _pathetically_ enough- depend on a fucking ghost to keep his memory alive?

He released a ragged sigh and dipped his head into his chest. Nagini was coiling around his feet, her cold, thick scales pressing into his skin.

At one time it would have been enough. He would have felt the strong, unmistakable swell of power but now, it was a burnt crisp of his ambition, a sad reminder of what he truly had.

 _Nothing_.

When he was physically gone from the school, how long would it be until he was a figment of the past? How long would his reputation last? He would become a mere memory within the walls until time faded even that.

It was all so cruel.

Hogwarts was his _home_ \- the only place he had ever truly belonged but no matter how strongly he felt for the aged castle, it didn't truly belong to him. It was as much _his_ as it was for the Weasley troll or the no brained students like Flint, Goyle, and Crabbe. A slap in the face was all he felt every time he looked at the damn school. Once a home, now he was consumed with _anger_ and _fury_ and the strongest desire to watch it burn down into the ground, brick by brick, just as he desired for Wool's. The only place he had ever longed for, was now something he could no longer stand. Somehow, along the twisted, deviant road he had taken, Tom no longer held Hogwarts in the light he once had as a naive boy.

It was no longer welcoming as everyone said it was- as Dumbledore vowed year after year. He felt none of that any more. Not a single slice of it. It had sucked the life out of him just as if it were a dementor.

All Tom could feel, emotionally and physically, was the looming _threat_ of leaving. It was there, a horrid black cloud in the distance that inched closer day by day, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. No matter how hard he fought or how avidly he pushed himself, making sure he received perfect marks and captured each of the professor's full attention with nods of approval directed and words of appraisal spewed his way.

He was _better_ than what the school stood for, what it represented. He was better than the students, some of the teachers even.

He knew it.

They even knew it.

But when he was gone, would they care to remember that?

He was expected to carry onto some piss-poor job at the Ministry, work paycheck to paycheck doing meander work like some _commoner_ and not the powerful wizard that he had become. His power was there; raw and manifested beneath his skin, radiating off of him in waves that made the hairs stand straight up of people passing by and giving them the warning that they needed. It had taken _years_ to get where he was now but he didn't regret it, not in the slightest.

Working for the Ministry would be belittling of him and everytime the professors brought the topic up, his fingers would twitch against his wand, ready to slice and tear and inflict the most excruciating pain he could manage _and then some_.

None of them knew any better. Part of him knew that he couldn't really blame them, even though he did. They didn't know what he had become.

It's what history had done since the very beginning. When professors would see brilliant minds, they would press them onto the Ministry, ready to use their young intelligence and morph it into their advantage. The only thing better than that, was to become a professor. And although the idea seemed… pleasing enough, he wanted _more_. _Needed_ more.

He needed a reputation that would outlive even that of the Minister of Magic, or a Headmaster.

It had started off as a childish joke, in a sense. Wanting to rule an entire world had been something that he said for theatrics, only wanting to push himself to do the absolute best he could in a society that was so alienish yet exciting. But the possibility of _what if_ had always lingered in his mind, always playing and whispering its sweet temptations against the lobes of his brain. When he read, it was there. When he did his school work, it was there. When he sat and listened to the other students drone on and on and one, it was there and stronger than ever. As the years had passed, the thought had consumed him just as the Chamber had. But the chamber was minuscule compared to _this_.

Tom's head snapped up. His grip around the basin tightened with deadly force, his face contorting into rage as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. The veins bulged through his pale skin at the pressure, one vivid on the side of his neck and another at his temple. The glint in his dark eyes made them flash beneath the light, the blue almost completely nonexistent from the dilation of his pupils. Above him, the light bulbs began to flicker dangerously, their shadows casting sinful shadows across his face. At his feet, Nagini coiled tightly.

He paid attention to neither and narrowed his eyes at his reflection.

This was him now; powerful and strong. No longer a lost, orphaned boy without a purpose in the world. _This was him._ He could feel the magic crackling between his fingertips, begging to be used.

There was no mistaking that his plans would be difficult to accomplish. Something that could only be defined as _unthinkable_ to the common wizard; something that was impossible.

With his jaw clenched, Tom pushed himself away from the porcelain edge and masked his expression.

The world couldn't see him like this. Not yet.

He had to stay composed. He needed to stay the perfect student everyone thought he was. On the exterior he was charming as ever, white teeth sitting in a straight, welcoming smile, while on the inside… something dark and feral scratched to get free, clawing at his organs and feeding off of his bloodstream while he silently screamed and cursed at the world.

The fire in his eyes burned deadlier than ever.

And oh how it begged to be sated.

* * *

"You know, if you want I can get Ron to extend the invitation to you. He'll understand."

As soon as the words left Harry's mouth, he watched as Tom's shoulders tensed, his pale hands halting their movement of drifting across the parchment. If he had had a quill between his fingers, it would have snapped in half.

Tom's gaze narrowed, the written words on the parchment blurring briefly as Harry's voice echoed throughout his skull. _Again with this?_ He had lost track of the times he had already answered with a defiant 'no'.

And yet, as many times as the words had been thrown at him, he was still greeted with a flare of agitation as it bled through his veins.

He didn't bother to turn around. "Do you really think I would want to spend my time anywhere near that _thing_?" he lazily replied. "When I desire an invitation, I'll be sure to tell you."

Harry rolled his eyes at the back of his brother's head. Leave it to Tom to be so damn stubborn. He was just trying to be polite for Merlin's sake. It took everything to smother the dramatic sigh that wanted to escape his lips. "So then what are you going to do for the two weeks that I'm gone?"

What a stupid, _pointless_ question, Tom mused. Did Harry really think he wouldn't manage on his own for two blithering weeks? The thought was laughable. If need be, Tom could have lasted the rest of _eternity_ in isolation. He frowned at that and glanced at Nagini who laid atop his desk, basking in the low rays he allowed to enter his room. One look at her yellow-green eyes was enough to see that she saw straight through his silent lie.

Tom turned his head from her quickly, and spun around in his chair to face Harry. He grinned a crooked grin. "I'll do the same thing I did for years before you got here," he answered, voice low. "Honestly, Harry, do you think my entire existence revolves around you? Just because you will not be here does not mean I suddenly lose my sense of function. You make me sound as stupid as your friend," Tom scoffed, a sneer dancing across his lips.

"I'm just trying to be nice-"

"Nice?" Tom repeated, his brows raising slightly on his forehead. The word sounded foreign on his tongue. "Weren't _you_ the one who was trying to manipulate Hermione into going with you?"

That caused Harry to pause. How did- His eyes shot towards the open parchment on Tom's desk, his green orbs wide in disbelief. "It wasn't manipulation. I simply felt that it would be more fun if the three of us spent time together without having to worry about school. It's not like it matters now, since she said no. _Numerous_ times."

Tom, however, ignored him.

"What, couldn't take _two_ seconds with the Weasel without having her to fall on?" Tom grinned but his eyes displayed a very different emotion. "Who's the dependent one now?"

"I wasn't trying to manipulate Hermione-"

"- _Besides-_ ," Tom's voice boomed over Harry's. He stood up, careful to place the written parchment in his desk drawer, and crossed his arms over his chest. With fluid strides, Tom crossed his bedroom and leaned against the frame of his bed.

"-I have my own plans for these last few weeks of summer and surprisingly enough, _brother_ , I will not be extending an invitation for you. So _you_ go and have fun with a poor excuse of a wizard while _I_ go with those that actually know the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane."

Harry's mouth opened, ready to argue in Ron's defense, but he stopped. His dark brows furrowed. "But there is no difference?"

"Does Weasley know that?" Tom didn't hesitate. His piercing stare almost made Harry want to just turn around and not bother to respond. Nothing he said would change his brother's mind anyhow.

"I'm sure," Harry lied through his teeth. At Tom's exaggerated look of speculation, Harry rolled his eyes. "So what if he doesn't? Half of the students in seventh year wouldn't know that."

"My _point,_ " Tom exhaled heavily, "is that you are wasting your time with the wrong people. Weasley has as much potential as a doorknob and by that, I'm being lenient enough."

It was routine by now that they could ignore the insults they gave each other. The only reason why they didn't scream and fight at each other was because neither of them settled enough to make anything out of them. They were always quick to move on, to push forward onto other important matters because the both of them knew how tedious an argument would become.

It was better to ignore the jabs for both of their sake. They had outgrown their childish stages. Although, he would argue that Tom never had one to begin with.

Harry dropped Tom's stare and moved his attention towards the sole window in the room. "Where will you be going?"

"Warrington has invited us all to his house over the break." Tom's response was short and clipped, providing nothing more and nothing less.

Harry sighed impatiently. "And what will you be doing?"

Tom's eyes flickered down at him, a coy smile aimed at the younger individual in the room. "If I tell you, then where would be the element of surprise?"

Harry's gaze narrowed. "You aren't one for surprises, Tom. And more importantly, I know you wouldn't _waste_ your time going to Warrington's house unless it benefited you. I'm not stupid."

"I suppose you're not entirely wrong," Tom tilted his head to the side in consideration. " _But_ you are incorrect if you think I will share with you the details of what I plan to do while there."

"That doesn't sound unusual," Harry sulked and watched keenly as Nagini slithered up Tom's bedpost. She was too large now; as thick as a child's thigh and impossible to hide as she stretched past four feet in length. He was quick to divert his attention as her head flicked up towards him. It never failed that those beady eyes of hers unnerved the life out of him. "You never tell me anything. You know, not once have you introduced me to your friends."

Tom's eyes flashed, his jaw tightening as he set Harry with a reprimanded glare. "First, they are not my _friends-_ as **you** of all people should know- nor will they ever be yours. Second, you do not _need_ to meet them. Not now, not ever. All that is important is they know who you are."

Harry's brows furrowed. "What does that even mean?"

"It means that they know to leave you be," Tom drawled out, his lips curling as he reached down and stroked the top of Nagini's scaled head.

Harry frowned at his brother as the words replayed through his skull. "Leave me be?" he repeated with a scoff. "You act as if they are brutes. I've seen the way they act, Tom; how you all suck up to the professors, so eager to please and get the best marks possible. They aren't _purebloods_."

It was Tom's turn to scoff. "I would certainly hope not," he sneered. "It is an insult to compare their talents to those that are the ill result of inbreeding, and I would advise you from saying so in their presence."

"What's the worse they could do?" Harry asked with raised brows. He couldn't imagine any of the boys from Tom's little 'gang' doing anything wrong- it's how picture perfect they all were; some of the best students that Hogwarts had to offer with manners placed in pristine check and ties knotted without imperfection, buttons and robes immaculate. To Harry, none of them, by long shot, frightened him and he couldn't imagine viewing any of the young men as a serious threat, let alone cause him _actual_ harm.

The thought was almost enough to make him laugh. The air lodged in his chest and rattled against his ribs.

One glance at Tom, however, had Harry stifling everything and anything that threatened to spill forth. His throat was suddenly dry and he could feel his face beginning to redden as he realized Tom was watching him.

Dark eyes were sharp like those of a hawk. With a tremendously forced effort, Harry held strong as Tom's stare narrowed, "You do not believe me."

It was no question.

He shrugged his shoulders with faked ease. "What do you expect? You are talking about Warrington, and Montague and Bletchley and _you_. Slytherin's top students, refined Slug Club members; young _men_ that would rather sit in the library or in front of a potion cauldron than watch a quidditch game or go to a joke shop. I'm sorry, Tom, but that doesn't seem like a group that would have me trembling in fear."

A humorless chuckle escaped Tom's mouth as he turned away.

On the bed, Nagini coiled tightly in a circle as Tom's fingers twitched alongst her scales.

"Of course," he murmured. "What could possibly be more concerning than a group of swots?"

The far-away look in Tom's gaze was disconcerting to say the least and it made Harry wish he could have taken the words right back, swallowing them up one by one until they no longer existed. He opened his mouth to apologize, clearly seeing that his brother had taken offense, but Tom gave him no chance.

" _Then again-_ ," this time Tom's tone was sharp and cutting, "-what is more dangerous than those that seek to expand their knowledge at every opportunity? They would be the most powerful, would they not? And would strike with surprise, with force and you would have never seen it coming."

 _Power_. It's what Tom always came back to, no matter how many months and weeks went by, no matter what came into his path time and time again. It was all that mattered to him- _power, power, power_. The more the words spewed from Tom's mouth, the more Harry wanted to bash his head against the wooden walls. He was tired of hearing it!

He craned his neck as he felt the muscles clench in frustration. "Powerful as what?" he bit out, his brows raising high onto his forehead. " _You_? They are _people_ , mere teenagers, wanting nothing more than to graduate Hogwarts and get placed into a decent job at the Ministry. They don't want what you do."

"No?" Tom inclined his head. He pushed himself away from his bed frame and took a slow step forward. "And tell me, dear brother, what is it that I want?"

Harry stuttered,"I-I-". He couldn't find the words to say, his tongue too thick in his mouth. It was like sandpaper. Mentally he cursed, _now of all times._

"Better yet, what would you say if I were to tell you that perhaps, just maybe, they too envision something better for themselves?"

"What's better than the Ministry? Being an Auror or Cursebreaker-"

Tom rolled his eyes and turned away, stalking back towards his bed and ignoring the rest of the words that Harry spoke. They were lackluster, unappealing in every way and form as they flew through one ear and out the other. The truth was painfully laid out in the open, something that he had tried desperately to see past as the years had carried on. His brother had lost their vision. He had had it at one time, Tom was sure, but now, looking back on their younger years, he couldn't tell if it had been as strong as it had needed to be. It hadn't driven Harry in school, hadn't pushed him to focus on the important things and not damn quidditch and useless friends and things that Tom didn't want to even begin to describe.

No, there was no doubt in Tom's mind that it had faded. It had festered as Harry had aged and was now only wisps of the radiance it had once been.

And the worse thing was, was that Tom had allowed it. This was just as much his fault as it was Harry's. There was no one to blame but _him_.

Tom turned once more and faced Harry, not paying attention to the words still being said by his brother, and looked- really _looked-_ at the young teen before him. Nothing much had changed with Harry. He had grown but not by much. He was quite short compared to how tall Tom had been at the time. Even Hermione was nearly the same height, just a tad under. His bespeckled brother was still leaned towards the younger side of the spectrum of youth and barely reached Tom's shoulders, although it was mainly due to how his hair stood straight up.

Harry would be a fourth year this go around. Unlike Tom, Harry still had plenty of time to do… whatever the hell it is he wanted. It wasn't as if Tom wasted his time hearing Harry describe his quidditch matches, or how he won the game by catching the snitch, or how he complained about assignment after assignment and how professors were truly a bore.

Tom paused his thoughts, frowning at the direction he had taken. Yet _again_ he was complaining about Harry's lifestyle while physically doing nothing about it. He bit the inside of his cheek from cursing aloud.

He had no choice but letting his brother be.

"And is that what you want?" he voiced towards Harry. "You want to become an Auror, to catch the bad guys and make the world all bright and shiny?"

Harry snorted at that, making Tom grin in amusement. If only the world were truly that stark; black and white, good and evil. The shades of grey were far in between. Harry, ever the brainwashed Gryffindor, couldn't possibly see that, couldn't possibly begin to understand that not everyone was so good.

"If I became an Auror then I would spend all of my time correcting your wrongs," Harry gave him a pointed look.

Tom laughed at that, short and sweet. He tilted his head to the side and spoke, "True, but you would never be able to catch me. It would be an endless game of cat and mouse, I would reckon. Who do you suppose you will be- the cat or mouse?"

His brother shook his head, wild black hair shifting from side to side with that familiar green spark ever present in his emerald eyes. Tom recognized it well. _Defiance_.

"I would be the lion," Harry said.

Both of them stared at one another, arms crossed and eyes narrowed at each other. Neither blinked as if refusing to back down first. The challenge, although nothing serious, was in the air and neither wanted to acknowledge or ignore it fully. They were in the grey area; not entirely in the pure white but not in the sinful black either. The ever present shade of slate was clouding around them. It waited for them to pick which way it would go- black or white, _good or bad_. Tom could feel it and could only wonder if Harry did too. It would be far too easy to let the balance tip.

But Tom didn't want it to.

He forced it away and smiled, his perfect teeth on perfect display even if it physically hurt to do so. The motion strained against his face and the muscles clenched in their forced actions. They begged him to stop.

"Then I suppose that makes me the snake."

Harry nodded, slowly. "I suppose it does."

Tom's brows rose and with nothing more to say, he pushed himself away from the frame of his bed and turned his attention to his half-packed trunk resting on his sheets. Like Harry, he wouldn't be returning to Wool's until the following summer, not as if that was a bad thing. As Harry journeyed with the Weasleys to Platform 9 ¾ , Tom would be doing the same with the Warringtons. Same destination but separate- _completely_ separate- paths.

With his head down and attention pretending to be busy accounting for his belongings, Tom peaked through his lashes and glanced towards Harry. His brother's unblinking gaze was trained on the drawer of his desk and oblivious to Tom's heavy stare.

The corners of Tom's lips curved at the sight and tucked his head back down. He reached down into his trunk and let his fingers graze against the book that was safely tucked between his school robes. It was _hers_ yet it was _his_ too. _His_. The familiar embroidered surface ran smoothly beneath the pads of his fingers, tantalizing and making him want _more_ , so very much more.

It wouldn't be too long now.

* * *

"The east corridor on the fifth floor is always empty, it would be the perfect place," Bletchley spoke, crossing his arms against his chest. "If we want a hideout, then that's where it should be."

Warrington shook his head. "We have already discussed the east corridor. It's too accessible. The only place that we can be assured will remain unlocated is the chamber. There is no way around it." He turned his blonde head and looked toward Tom for reassurance but Tom stayed silent, watchful as the three debated before him. _As if they had a choice_. Montague seemed to be thinking along the same line as he sat in silence.

"Can we really say that we will be safe in the chamber?" Bletchley argued. "I would rather much risk getting caught in the east corridor than risk getting eaten by a fucking basilisk." Bletchley ran a hand roughly through his dark hair, tugging on the ends with more force than necessary. Tom eyed him through his peripheral.

"Why would we be eaten by the basilisk if we have the bloody heir of Slytherin with us?" Warrington threw his hands out towards Tom.

"In case you have _forgotten_ ," Bletchley hissed, "a basilisk is a creature. It will do whatever it damn well pleases."

Finally, Montague stood up, releasing an impatient sigh, "Oh for the love of Merlin! If we are truly dedicated to our cause, then who fucking cares about any risk? If that is why you are so worried then the risk of getting _caught_ is more dangerous than getting eaten. If Dumbledore or any of the other professors catch us, then we will all be expelled without any hesitation on their part. And if that were to happen, how are we to get our message out if none of us are at school to spread it?!"

Montague's outburst impressed Tom, but he didn't show it and instead, watched as the other two dipped their heads in embarrassment.

Silence washed over them. Tom wanted the moment to sink in, to let them wallow in their mortification of such _disappointing_ behavior because Montague was _right_. If they were as loyal to the cause as they said they were, then they wouldn't be arguing where their… _activities_ would be taking place. Eventually they would have to learn from their mistakes. He would give them no choice but to follow his every command until any thought of going against him would disappear instantly in their minds, the idea dissolving just as quickly as it appeared

"The chamber is our only option," Tom spoke. His voice was collected and refined, and the three pairs of eyes glued onto him made him reek of authority, feeling it pulse through his veins. Tom basked in it. "It is the option we will be taking," he finalized.

Bletchley took a shuddering breath, but refrained from speaking. Tom's eyes dared him to do otherwise.

"They will all know who we are in due time," Tom continued. "We will start off small but word will spread fast. By the end of the year, the purebloods will all realize that their rule of the Wizarding World is running on dwindling time. Have trust in _our_ cause," he commanded them. "For without us, no change will ever become of our society."

The three young men nodded their heads; strong and confident as they glanced at one another. Tom's words had filled them to the brim and he could see their want gleaming dangerously in their eyes. They were his start.

His first followers.

The _firsts_ of thousands.

* * *

Arriving to Platform 9 ¾ was strange without having Harry by his side, but yet, it was almost… refreshing as well. He didn't have to deal with Harry's constant chatter or having to drag him by the sleeve onto the train before it pulled out and left behind. He was able to maneuver through the crowd with ease, with Warrington, Bletchley, and Montague flanked by his sides; collars perfected, robes straight and unwrinkled, polite grins flashed to those students and parents they passed. They all had a purpose now, after all.

Unlike the other three, however, Tom's smiles were forced and abrupt. He was far too occupied with scanning the crowd, his gaze flickering up and down, side to side.

The rest of the crowd passed by him in a blur as he was possessed with his search. None of them mattered. None of them had any _significance_. Not like she did.

He had made it halfway down the outside of Hogwarts Express when he finally found her. And when he did, his gaze stuck to her and watched as she said her goodbyes to her parents, his breath held in his chest.

It never failed that she could hold his attention without having to even try. She could speak utter rubbish and he would lap up her every word; she could have her hair in an utter mess, strangled in some hair band and he would trace its wild patterns with entranced eyes, barely containing the urge to run his fingers through it. Or those days that she would stay up past midnight studying the night away and only manage to get a few hours of sleep, she would come to breakfast less than her usual self and yet still, she was the only one who could capture his full and undivided attention, making feelings bubble beneath his skin that he knew weren't because he thought of her as a mere _friend_. No, friends didn't mean anything to Tom. To him, Hermione was so much _more_ than that.

So much more.

With his gaze still on her, he turned his head to the side to order the three behind him, "Go secure two compartments. Right across from one another."

"And if none are free?" Warrington asked. Bletchley and Montague paused their departure and turned their gazes towards Tom, waiting for direction.

His eyes flashed, feeling the flare of frustration creep into his vision. "Then see to it that you remove them. By _force_ , if necessary."

The three were quick to follow his command and, with their trunks in haul, climbed up the steps onto the train. He stood there, alone, and waited until Hermione moved away from her parents before he began to approach her.

She spotted him nearly right off the back and visibly brightened as she smiled towards him. Her footsteps quickened.

"Hello Tom," she spoke, stopping directly in front of him and gazing at him in a way that made his heart rattle in his chest. He liked it best when she was this close, to where if he wanted to, he could reach out and grab her, to hold her close. Not only that though. Up close he could trace her features with ease- from her dark brows to the splash of gold that glowed in her brows iris', and the black lashes that she gazed at him from behind with the faintest splash of freckles that were splayed across the bridge of her nose. Her face was something that he had memorized long ago.

"Hermione," he greeted her. Her name rolled off of his tongue like water and he watched as her smile widened. They held each other's gaze but it was quick as the whistle blew behind them. She jolted at the sudden noise which caused him to grin but he refrained from teasing. He had learned years prior that she didn't like to be teased- something that Harry and the fucking-twat-Weasley always did to her, not knowing how much she despised it. It isn't like she was bold enough to confront them about it, but Tom could see the fury that burned in her eyes _each_ and _every_ time they did it. Pure, powerful emotion that bled from those eyes of hers.

Hermione's gaze trickled to his side and eyed the empty space with raised brows.

"He's late," she stated.

Tom scoffed at that. "He's with the Weasley's. Were you expecting him to be early?"

"No," she admitted. "But I expected him to be here by now." Hermione turned her head and skimmed the quickly dispatching crowd. Harry was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Weasley. He doubted she cared about the later though.

He turned his head to take one last look but he knew it would be pointless. Harry would have approached them already if he was here.

"Perhaps he is already on the train," Tom spoke. He knew it was a lie. It was the _Weasley's_ afterall. But it wasn't as if either of them could stay rooted on the platform waiting. Knowing Harry, he would probably show up just as the conductor blew the last whistle.

"Maybe…" Hermione muttered. Her gaze was still searching the crowd.

Tom's fist tightened around his trunks handle. _Where the hell was he?_

Once more, the whistle blew into the air.

To his side, Hermione sighed heavily and turned towards the train. He held his arm out, beckoning her to go before him.

Hermione shot one last look behind her before she took towards the step. Tom followed her closely behind.

With every compartment they passed, both he and Hermione swivled their heads from side to side, quickly trying to see if Harry was already on board. But the further they made it up the train, the more frustrated Tom became because Harry wasn't anywhere to be found. It wasn't as if he _couldn't_ show up. He had to. He didn't have a fucking choice.

He began to feel the sharp claws of panic sink into his flesh when he caught sight of the dash of red hair- the twins- and no sign of his brother. But he refused to stop and approach them. He was quick to continue pushing Hermione forward because he had no doubt that if she saw them, then she would stop and they would use every chance they could to drag her into their compartment and keep _him_ out. The Longbottom boy had been with them as had her friend Justin, so it wasn't as if there was no strong temptation for her.

Soon enough, he spotted Warrington leaning through the doorframe, with his head turned as he gazed at the remnant students making their way down the halls. When he spotted Tom, he nodded his head and motioned towards the compartment across from him. Tom nodded, dismissing Warrington, and eased his hand onto the small of Hermione's back to direct her into the compartment.

With her getting settled, Tom quickly placed his belongings onto the bench and took the few steps towards the door to call the attention of those across from him. Bletchley was the first to notice him and Tom watched as Bletchley's gaze strayed over his shoulder, into the compartment where Hermione was. Bletchley's brows furrowed, turning his head back to Tom.

"Where is your brother?" he asked.

Tom glanced down the hall, left and right, but it was empty now as the last students found their spots. He clenched his jaw, shaking his head. His gaze settled on Bletchley and Montague, who now lingered over Bletchley's shoulder. Tom's black-blue eyes were hard when he spoke, "Find. Him."

The two jumped into the hall as Tom turned away. He slid the door closed behind him and refocused on Hermione as she sat down.

"If he were here then he would find us," she said, her brown eyes looking up at him. "Harry isn't here, right?" Hermione's lips were tugged down into a frown.

Tom found that he didn't like it. He preferred her without the worry, without the frown. He wanted her smile back.

"I do not think he is," he answered truthfully. "But one thing I do know-," Tom pushed himself off of the door and strided to the bench directly across from Hermione, "-is that when I see him, he won't make this mistake again."

She scoffed at that, shaking her head softly in disbelief. "As long as Ron stays glued to his side, then I find that hard to believe."  
Tom nodded. He could feel the thoughts creeping into his mind, the possibilities, the plans… His head stilled. _That could be done,_ he thought to himself.

"You're right," he admitted, more lost in the plan formulating between the lobes of his brain as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. The movement brought him closer to Hermione. "Absolutely right."

She grinned at that, her brown eyes sparkling. Those strange feelings bubbled beneath his skin again.

"Aren't I always?" she mused.

His gaze peered at her from behind his dark lashes and he grinned. "Don't push it."

Her laugh filled the compartment.

* * *

It was during the welcoming feast that Filch bursted through the doors of the Great Hall. The old croon was dragging Harry by his sleeve with one arm and the redhead with the other. He was pulling them straight up to Dumbledore himself.

Tom watched Harry unblinkingly as he was dragged along the stone floor and from the way Harry refused to look in his direction, it was enough to tell Tom that he knew he fucked up big this time. _Good_ , he could only think. It was only a matter of time before Harry's bullshite antics caught up to him. Perhaps now Harry would start taking things seriously instead of thinking it was always fun and games here.

But the longer Tom looked, his brows furrowed as he took Harry's appearance in. Harry's sweater was nicked in several places, a hole and slash in his trousers, and his hair was an absolute mess.

 _Where the fuck did they go?_

The entire school watched in silence as Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled towards the two boys. Tom, however, was done. He was done letting Harry fuck up and he was done letting that redhead ruin _everything_. The Weasley boy was a problem, and there was only one thing you do with problems- you _end_ it.

Tom turned his attention back towards his meal.

* * *

A flying car. Of all things. A _fucking_ flying car. And to make matters even worse, Muggles had spotted them! Harry made him look like a fool. Tom had heard the stray whispers around the common room that ridiculed him- " _Isn't that Riddle's brother?", "You would think Slytherin's Prefect would teach him better.", "Honestly, with Riddle being so uptight, you would expect his brother to be the same.", "How pathetic."_ The whispers had began to drive him insane because they were _right_.

Tom was left with no choice but to kick his plan into action. They would all learn. Harry included.


End file.
